


The Sun and The Moon

by Ammyretsu



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: 10 luck, Bad People, Courier 6 is morally ambiguous, F/M, Obsession, Power Imbalance, Smut, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-21 09:35:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14912907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ammyretsu/pseuds/Ammyretsu
Summary: She is made from the dust and the creeks and the skies of the Mojave.He himself knows he has been made to be cruel and feral and calculating and beautiful and, despite knowing what a terrible entity he is, he knows more than anything that he wants her.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a love story.

On the first day, she was shot in the head. She had always been luckier than most, managing to avoid confrontations through both good timing and an uncanny ability to always be in the right place. Like most things though, there was always too much of a good thing and the Universe needed balance.

Apparently now was her time to pay the debts she didn’t realise she had accrued, the misfortune of being too lucky.

She wouldn’t have ever considered herself a spiritual person but there was something karmic about staring down the barrel of Maria. The mother of Christ or perhaps the Woman of the Apocalypse. A lucky woman but not a good person, and now she was being punished. Bound and gagged, she could only stare down the barrel as the man in the checked suit talked at her.

No time like the present to pray to whoever was out there and hope he was just calling her bluff.

_‘If there’s someone listening to-‘_

A moment of pain and then she was no more.

 

On the second day, she wakes with the most excruciating headache she can remember having. It’s the only headache she can remember having when she thinks about it a moment later, and that is disconcerting.

A man- the man who calls himself Doc Mitchell- tells her to take it easy. She doesn’t understand why until she sits up, and the room spins and twirls around her. Is this normal for headaches she ponders as she is pushed back down onto the bed.

“What happened to me? Where am I?”

Her eyes are now closed, blanketing herself from the imposing light in the room, and so she misses the sympathetic look pass briefly over his face. She also stops listening after hearing how she was shot in the head twice. Memories from before are gone, shadows banished by the midday sun.

She shouldn’t be alive.

Doc Mitchell tells her about the robot called Victor; he is the one who brought her to get medical help. She had been found tied and gagged in a shallow grave, bondage for the earth.

“Can you remember your name? Anything from before?” He asks her.

She knows that fire burns, that the sun is hot and the moon is cold. She recalls faces, like over-exposed photographs, and knows they are her parents. Or were her parents. She doesn’t know if they are alive or dead now, nor does she know when she saw them last.

“My name is Pandora.”

He looks to her, one eyebrow raised slightly as though sceptical of her name. If he doesn’t believe her though then the thought is quickly dismissed. He has no reason to doubt her, after all.

On the third day, Doc Mitchell makes her do an ink-blot test. She is agreeable to this, but when she sees him frown at her results, she wonders if there is something wrong with her. If she were okay, wouldn’t he smile at her? She still can’t remember much other than odd blurry fragments of a past life, but they have no context. She doesn’t care about this.

On the fourth day, Doc Mitchell finally allows her to leave his abode. Her headaches have finally lessened, and he feels it’ll be good for her to get some fresh air. She steps outside (‘ _finally_!’ she thinks) and looks around her. She falls in love with the Mojave at first sight.

It is tumultuous, unforgiving and beautiful, and her senses are overloaded. Most of all, she loves the sky. Perhaps she never really paid too much attention before but now it looks bigger than she imagined it being. Doc Mitchell suggests she go speaks to some of the other folk in town but she isn’t ready yet. She retires back to bed earlier that evening, her mind exhausted from learning everything again.

It is now the fifth day and Pandora finally feels ready to socialise. She hasn’t lost the ability to converse with people- this is abundantly clear from the long conversations she has with Doc Mitchell- but she knows everyone knows who she is. It seems almost macabre to be infamous for being shot in the head twice.

“You’re not famous because you got shot in the head,” he corrects her. “We know who you are because you survived.”

“I survived because of you and Victor. Nothing to do with me,” she responds.

“But I’ll be damned if you’re not the luckiest person I’ve ever met. I’m surprised them bullets didn’t just jump on back into the gun!”

Luck.

The word sticks in her head as one of the townsfolk, Sunny, teaches her how to shoot. Its something she just knows how to do, despite the swath of bandages on her head. When Sunny asks if she’d like to go hunt some geckos down by the well, she shakes her head. Shes tired now, not just from being stared at by the named and nameless in Goodsprings, but from everyone having an opinion on stuff she doesn’t give a shit about.

Doc Mitchell says she was lucky to live, but she feels it would have been better to stay in the ground than live without knowing who you were. It’s a bitter pill to swallow and the thought offers her no comfort as she falls asleep.

On the sixth day, Doc Mitchell finally offers Pandora a mirror. He warns her before that it might not be pretty, but she doesn’t care. Was she even pretty before the gunshots? When she looks at herself, it is a perfect moment of self awareness and she can’t look away. Her eyes are drawn to the angry looking wound running from her temple to the top of her left ear.

“Who shot me, Doc?”

He shrugs, not nonchalantly but just because he doesn’t know either. “You had a few possessions on you. Maybe they’ll help bring something back.”

The Mojave Express.

She’d been a Courier. Courier Six, according to the note.

_‘What was I delivering that nearly had me killed?’_

On the seventh day, she’s just finished her first fight. The Powder Gangers, whoever they were, have been run out of town and it’s the first time she’s starting to feel alive again. She doesn’t even notice the few scrapes she’s picked up being tackled to the dirt. What’s a graze after a shot to the head?

Doc Mitchell bandages up her wound once more for her- he worries she’ll get some infection out in the desert and undo all his hard work- and she tucks her hair into a cowboy hat she’d picked off the body of someone. The Vault suit he’d offered her before will stay in Goodsprings. She doesn’t want to stand out anymore than she feels she already does.

Primm. Someone says the Mojave Express headquarters are in Primm.

It’s time to find the son of a bitch who shot her.


	2. Two

Pandora hates Primm. It is run down and no one there seems to want to take any responsibility for making things better. She rescues the Deputy Sheriff and he immediately suggests she finds someone new to bring order back to the town. It hasn’t taken her long to realise that people suggesting she does something is nothing more than a request without a backbone. Frustratingly, the NCR seem to be as lazy to make a move as the Deputy. 

 

“Can you not?” one of the guards asks her as she breathes smoke in his direction. She knows she is being petty but she’s in a bad mood. Who knew the road to vengeance would be so convoluted? Still...no need to take it out of him. She drops the cigarette and grinds it into the dirt before mock saluting the NCR solider. She actually detests smoking but there’s something about this place that has got under her skin, and not in a good way.

 

“So where’s this Mojave outpost place then?” she asks. 

 

“ _The_ outpost is down South of here.” He grabs her Pip Boy and points to the area on the map. “You’ll see the statues of unity before you see anything else so aim for them if you’re not sure.”

 

She grabs her wrist back and stands up. “Doesn’t sound too hard. I don’t know why none of you don’t just go down there yourselves.”

 

“Hold up!” Lieutenant Hayes jumps up after her. “Keep an eye out for Legion. Someone like you by yourself is easy pickings for them.” She stares blankly back at him and he slaps his hands against his thighs, exasperated with her. “Have you been living under a rock? Legion, the men in red skirts. Nothing more than a bunch of rapists and murderers.”

 

“Someone tried to murder me once...I got better.” Pandora looks at him and shrugs. “All men piss and shit and bleed the same way. Nothing about the Legion scares me.”

 

“Girl, they’ll enslave you if you give them half a second.”

 

She pulls the goggles over her eyes and puts her cowboy hat back on her head. “So if I see a man in a red skirt, I’ll run faster than them then. Thanks for the advice.”

 

The road to the outpost is largely uneventful. She avoids the giant ants she sees in the distance, spitting fire at anything that comes close to them, and cleans out an abandoned shelter of Jackals. It’s not the easiest fight she’s had but her reflexes aren’t completely ruined after her time in the grave. Afterwards though, she is drained and mulls her existence whilst sitting on the roof of the Pit Stop. She’ll never get over the expanse of the desert or the noises of creatures barking out in the distance. 

 

_Deja Vu._

 

She knows, or feels, like she has trodden this road before but just can’t get her brain to remember the specifics. During her fight, she remembered other fights with gangs skulking alongside civilisation. She remembered _winning_ these fights and taking enjoyment from being number one. She also begins to remember being a courier- not The Courier- and the endless roads walked. It wasn’t a burden before, and now all she hears about when she turns on the radio of her Pip Boy is herself and how she survived a shot in the head.

 

She now remembers being shot in the head, and wishes she could exchange this memory for any other. 

 

 

***********

 

The NCR seem to be appreciative for her assistance at sorting out the mess in Primm, and are happy to send someone up to act as the Sheriff. There is a palpable tension in the air however, one that can be cut with a knife, and no one seems to want to say too much to her so she keeps her nose out for the moment.

 

Cass. She’s a real _hoot_ thinks Pandora, watching the auburn haired woman knock back shot after shot of whiskey. She is very to-the-point and unapologetic about her behaviours at that, something Pan is appreciative for after the runaround the NCR are giving her. However, she refuses the offer to have the other woman travel along with her. Cass raises her eyebrow at this and Pan just shrugs.

 

“Got some shit to sort out first and don’t want to drag you into it,” is the only explanation Pan will give Cass. She wants to retain her anonymity as much as possible rather than being known in every town from Primm to New Reno as Courier Six- the person who survived a shot to the head. She wants to make the bastard pay and no one else needs be part of her vendetta. 

 

Pandora will also never admit she likes the quiet. People talking at her all the time keeps making headaches flare up- she can only presume it’s a small discomfort from two shots to the head- and it’s easier to be alone. She’s not lonely during these brief respites from society; slowly, slowly some memories are starting to come back to her. They are nothing more than brief flickering images without context but it’s better than the void that was there before.

 

“Hm. Didn't even hear you come up the ramp. You don't broadcast your movements, I like that.”

 

Ghost is her name, the lonely sniper perched on the roof looking out into the horizon.

 

“I know you’re probably busy, but can you go check out Nipton for us? We’ve lost contact with them down there and I can see some smoke coming from the town.”

 

Pan nods. “I will but what are you expecting me to find down there?”

 

“Who knows. Let me know when you get back though.”

 

She looks at the time and it is approaching dawn. If she gets on the road now, she can make it to Nipton by midday latest and then back to Ghost before the sun sets...it’s doable.

 

“Watch out for the Radscorpions!” Ghost hollers at Pandora’s back.

 

Radscorpions. She remembers those although she has no idea why. They’re aggressive creatures, not the worst thing in the desert, but she’d still rather not bump into one if she can help it. With the warning fresh in her mind, she takes a slower route down to Nipton, down to the pillars of smoke and it’s all good until a man runs smack into her and they both hit the dirt.

 

She draws her gun and points it at him. “Are you _completely insane_?”

 

He is wild eyed, not present in the moment, and seems to look straight through her despite the eye contact. She wonders if it is drugs before he speaks.

 

“YEAH! Who won the lottery? I DID!”

 

Pandora climbs to her feet and drags him up as well. “What in the goddamn hell are you talking about?” 

 

The smile on his face grows wider at her question. “What lottery? The lottery, that's what lottery! Are you stupid? Only lottery that matters! Oh my god smell that air!” 

 

She inhales deeply and the smell gets caught in her throat and stomach. How did she not notice it before? It is more than the acrid smell of burning rubber that is making her expel the contents of her stomach now. She can smell burning flesh and hair and can now hear soft whimpers on the breeze. The man- the lottery winner- has knocked past her and is running away. Pan takes a swig from her flask to wash out the lingering taste of vomit and takes a few large breaths through her mouth before continuing on. Around the bend, she sees crosses lining the road and she recognises then from pictures in books, but they are without meaning.

 

Red skirts.

 

Legion.

 

Hayes had warned her about this and she feels like prey walking closer towards them. She won’t let them know this though and walks closer, safety off the 9mm and trying to make sense of _it._

 

A man walks towards her, eyes concealed just like her own and he wears a crown of fur. The deliberate cruelty here is of his making, or so it would seem.

 

“Don't worry, I won't have you lashed to a cross like the rest of these degenerates. It's useful that you happened by.”

 

She blinks to get herself out of the reverie she is stuck in and is ashamed of how relieved is she at his words.  

 

“What did you do here?” Her voice comes out stronger than she feels and he grins at this.

 

“Nipton was a wicked place, debased and corrupt. It served all comers, so long as they paid. For a pittance, the town agreed to lead those it had sheltered into a trap. Only when I sprang it did they realize they were caught inside it, too.”

 

“You tricked an entire town...” She falls quiet for a moment, her brain trying to comprehend what was going on but was so torn on how she felt about the entire situation. She remembers how good she felt shooting the Powder-Gangers back in Goodsprings and can’t lower herself to judge this man, as awful as his actions are. She wonders if she is any better than him, and has no memories to suggest otherwise.

 

“I admire the purity of the Legion’s justice.”

 

“So go spread our word, teach them what you have learned today. It is only the first of many lessons.” The man has stepped closer towards her and then he is infringing in her personal space. She is not short but he is taller than her and his presence makes her want to submit to him completely.

 

He has a voice of milk and honey and the face of Raphael, but he would make the Devil weep with the sins he has committed. All she can do is breathe as he moves in closer, closer to her before suddenly he raises his hand towards her cheek. She flinches and grabs his wrist, causing him to merely smile at her. It is a stalemate; she is outnumbered and outwitted and Lord, she wants to get away from the smell of burning flesh and hair but her feet won’t move from the controlled chaos caused by this mans hand. Another cold smile before her hand is grabbed by his own and she has no time to react before a kiss is placed onto the top of it. Anything she would say to him is caught in her throat and then he is walking away from her, followed by his men.

 

She is alone again.

 

Pandora gets _it-_ she knows why the Legion have destroyed this town and the reasoning is logical on paper, but she is too new into this world to not be shocked. The fight back in Goodsprings was one thing but there is a methodical, cold beauty in Nipton’s downfall and it has stunned her into silence. 

 

The Legion have departed now so she dares turn her back on the town hall and tries to get into a few buildings before one door finally opens. There is a man on a chair in front of her, legs mangled and ruined. She must have been staring for he speaks first.

 

“Prize for second place was I got to live, but they beat my fucking legs with hammers. I'm fucking crippled, get it?”  

 

“Do you want sympathy from me? If you hadn’t been in a gang of assholes then you wouldn’t have been here.”

 

“Jesus fucking Christ, if you want me dead, just gimme 15 Med-X and I'll fucking O.D. for ya, okay? Fuck!”

 

Pandora considers giving him the gift of life, the gift of hope, but she knows he’d turn on her in a second. There is no loyalty amongst those people, no honour. She raises her pistol to his head with a steady hand and presses the trigger. The shot has been taken and he is gone.

 

 _“Forgive me for I have sinned.”_ she thinks, knowing it was once her being shot. The scar trailing from her eyebrow to her ear is the only memento of this past life of hers as a courier. Settling herself behind the counter, doors now locked and body dragged outside to be a feast for carrion, she unravels the bandage hidden under the hat and looks at herself in a small pocket mirror she brought with her from Goodsprings. The wound has sealed itself now- it is pink and ugly and she knows her missing eyebrow hair won’t grow back, but she doesn’t mind. It’s more permanent than her memories, and can’t be as easily removed.

 

That night, as she drifts off, she thinks of the fox kissing her hand again. She doesn’t even remember him disarming her and she knows it’ll end in tears as he is a cruel man, but she still feels the goosebumps rise up the exposed flesh of her arms as the memory lulls her to sleep.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I try not to do too much copy and pasting of game dialogue, but we all have our own crosses to bear sometimes! 
> 
> Thanks for all the love on chapter one. Completely unexpected- I love you all back <3 I love comments and feedback so appreciate them all.


	3. Three

She is well-rested when she sets off back for the outpost the following morning. The whimpers from crucified men have grown quieter now and she knows the exposure today will finish them off. No use in wasting ammo on the dead.

 

The road back to the Mojave Outpost is largely uneventful. There is one altercation with a purple haired woman, who dared turn her gun on Pandora, but it turned out in her favour. Not that she comes out completely unscathed; by the time she crosses under the two statues, she is limping from a twisted ankle, gained from being tackled into the ground from behind. She is grateful it wasn’t another shot to the head- she has no idea how many lives she has left now.

 

Pan absentmindedly thumbs the star bottle caps in her pocket as she slumps against the wall of the barracks. Ghost must hear her for she sticks her head over the roof and looks down.

 

“You okay down there?” 

 

Pan merely waves one hand up weakly. “Just got too damned curious for my own good. I got news from Nipton for you by the way.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Ran into those Legion guys. Everyone who lived there was killed. Said they were teaching the town a lesson.”

 

“Shit! Legion this side of the Colorado?” Ghost is visibly distressed at the news but composes herself enough to thank Pandora. A small bag of caps and a stimpak is thrown down to her and, after storing them in her backpack, she pulls her cowboy hat over her eyes. It is another barrier protecting her from the world. She is frustrated- so frustrated!- with the inability of the NCR to take any accountability for their actions. 

 

_“Or to even act in the first place, sitting on their goddamn hands like that’ll make a difference.”_

 

Later, after napping away the daylight hours and letting her ankle heal, she sets off again for Primm. The sooner she gets this fools errand complete, the sooner she can continue on her mission of vengeance. 

 

She prefers the Mojave at night with the moon to guide her path and she is starting to remember the name of constellations as she walks. She has remembered her mother’s name, remembers the knowledge of an absent father, and knows she comes from a place where the mountains meet the ocean. It has no name but this is insignificant to her anyway. The cosmos watch out for her and that’s all she needs to know. As she gets near to Primm, she sits on a rocky outcrop and watches the sky being set alight with amber and crimson hues. The man with the fox hat hasn’t left her mind, and she realises she doesn’t even know his name. She strokes the back of her hand, the spot where he kissed her, and frowns. 

 

What was his _deal_ anyway? 

 

She doesn’t dwell on it too much and continues with her journey to Primm. People are up by the time she crosses into the towns boundaries and she makes a beeline for Hayes. 

 

“You survived,” he comments as she approaches him.

 

“Don’t look to pleased,” she retorts drily. “I got you a sheriff, thanks by the way. Upstanding, NCR...definitely your type.”

 

“Oh!” 

 

“I get results, hide the shocked look on your face.” She rolls her eyes at him. “Get another Courier to help next time you need someone to do the runaround for you.” With that, she departs and heads into the town centre. She was given a name when she was in town before and so she goes to see him out. 

 

It doesn’t take long and, as she walks through the doors of the Mojave Express headquarters, an older man turns to her looking like he is seeing a ghost.

 

“Pandora? Is that you?”

 

She nods curtly at him. “In the flesh. Sorry I’m not six foot tall and covered in scales like the rumours are suggesting...”

 

“We don’t listen to none of that big city crap here or give it too much attention. Besides, I'm the man who gave you all those jobs. I knew you before.” Johnson pauses just a moment before continuing. “You’re still on my books so what do ya want to know?”

 

“Who shot me?” The words spit from Pan’s mouth like venom. “Shit Johnson, I got nothing to go on! Everyone is sending me all over the goddamn place and I’m walkin’ round with two bullets in my back pocket that were removed from my noggin! I just want to find out who shot me.”

 

“You’re not interested in _why_ you were shot?”

 

“Does it matter?”

 

Johnson sighs; he doesn’t tell her but she hasn’t changed much despite her brain injury. She was always blunt, always strong, and always one of the best couriers he had hired due to her ability to not give a fuck about too much.

 

No one crossed Courier Six.

 

“Listen kiddo, all I can tells you is some cowboy robot had us hire six couriers. You were all carrying something different; chess pieces, gambling chips...those sorts of things. Last I heard is that five of the payments had been received, just not yours. First deadbeat we hired the job cancelled on us. Hopefully a storm from the Divide skins him alive. And that’s where you came in.”

 

“Johnson, dammit! I need to know where to go! You must have something that can help me!” She grabs the lapels of his shirt, her fists clenched. “You know more than I do!”

 

He gently places his hands on top of hers, feeling oddly paternal in the moment about this feral blonde. “I can point you in the right direction but the whole mess is a mystery to me. Aim for Novac. Few hours walk from here. Look for the big dinosaur out front and you’ll be in the right place.”

 

“Big dinosaur, few hours from here. Got it.” She goes to walk out the door but Johnson grabs her shoulder.

 

“Stay here for the night missy. God knows you look like you need a good meal in your belly to keep you ticking over. Rest up today and then go raise Hell tomorrow.”

 

He can see the cogs going in her mind but then she nods. “Sure. But I’m going first light tomorrow. Don’t want to outstay my welcome.”

 

*****

 

It is much later and Pandora is enjoying the bowl of…whatever it is she’s eating. Not that she’s much for the domesticated life; she loves life out on the open road, under the stars and with no one to answer to. 

 

Still though, it makes a nice break from the standard routine of eating barbecued gecko.

 

“You know Pandora, you’d have never done this before,” Ruby points out and Pan looks up at her. “We could barely get a word out of you edgeways before, not that you’re much chattier now but no way you would have even stepped foot in here.”

 

Pan raises her eyebrows, looking from Johnson then back to Ruby. “I’m not sure what I should say to that?”

 

“Now, don’t get defensive.” Ruby smiles at the younger woman. “Just stating a fact. And listen, we can tell you ain’t got all your memories in there, else you would've already killed the son of a bitch who shot you. Anything you want us to tell you?”

 

Pan points to the broken eyebot on the desk. “Whose is that? Why not just scrap it?”

 

“It’s as good as scrap,” grumbles Johnson, ‘but take it with you if you fancy some tinkering. See if you can get it working. An extra gun won’t hurt you in your line of work.”

 

“You got any fella or lady out there wanting to make an honest woman of you?” Ruby asks Pan, causing her to choke on the stew she is swallowing. 

 

“Dammit Ruby, stop trying to kill her!” 

 

“I just asked her a question!”

 

Pan coughs until her lungs want to cooperate again and wipes tears from her eyes. “Ain’t nobody interested in someone as bad as me. And don’t go looking at me like that!” She looks up at them both and smirks. “Just because I was dead for a little while doesn’t mean people have forgotten me. I’m not so dumb that I don’t know I’ve got a reputation.”

 

“It’s not that you were _bad_ -“

 

“You were one of the meanest women to ever grace the Mojave!” Johnson interrupts Ruby quite abruptly but then sighs. “I get it though. You probably wouldn’t be here now if it weren’t for knowing how to handle yourself. But gosh, you’re young. Enjoy life sometime as well.”

 

It is food for thought as she sits on her cot later that night. Johnson and Ruby have both drifted to sleep- she can hear gentle snoring coming from the adjacent room- and she starts to quietly strap the eyebot to her backpack. What they don’t realise is that she is having fun. There is nothing more invigorating than chasing a shadow across the desert.

 

Mean she might be but what she doesn’t need to be told, as she slips out the door during the dead of night, is that she’s also stone cold efficient. She  _finally_ has a tangible lead and doesn't want the shooter getting away. They've had enough of a head start but now. Now it's time for Pandora to have some fun of her own.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I wasn't meant to take this long to update but life happened. Also the first edit of this chapter was longer than the Bible and I hated it so had to rewrite it. Still not a huge fan of it but hell, need a filler chapter to get the story moving along. 
> 
> Next chapter- BOONE, MANNY, GHOULS, OTHER STUFF. 
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos and hits- you guys :3
> 
> Leave me comments, I love chatting to you all.


	4. Four

He cherishes the night, cherishes the fact that he can’t see the pseudo-sympathetic looks on all their faces about Carla. It’s bullshit; he knows they couldn’t stand her anyway. But, what he _really_ wants to know is _who_ sold them out to those Legion bastards.

 

Someone needs to pay for what they did to him. To her.

 

No one can look him in the eye anymore and that makes them all suspects. So deep in his contemplation that he almost misses a silhouette on the horizon draw close to the boundary of Novac.

 

_Almost._

 

He watches the figure through his scope, trigger finger not yet twitchy but ready for a fight. He wasn’t part of 1st Recon for just no reason, after all. And then they emerge from the darkness and it is a human. The finger on the trigger relaxes a bit; he worries the shadow was a ghoul. There have been problems lately with ghouls coming from a nearby facility and, while he’s not personally opposed to them, they’re a nuisance when they become feral.

 

And then, almost as quickly as she had emerged, the shadows have consumed her again. He realises she is in Novac now and, as she is out of sight, she must be coming to explore the damned dinosaur. This means he’ll be getting an unwanted guest soon; he scowls at the thought of the rapidly encroaching intruder to his space and turns his focus back to his shift.

 

There is a light cough behind him- a woman’s cough- and he knows it’s the same person he observed skulking in the dark from before. 

 

“Good way to get yourself shot, creeping up on someone in the dark.” Boone grumbles at her. 

 

“Oh...” She seems put off but it is only for the briefest of moments, easily missed if you weren’t looking for it. “Well, I was just looking around so I’ll just take myself away then?”

 

“Maybe you are the person I’m looking for...What are you doing up here?” 

 

“If you’re looking for someone in particular, I could tip you off if I see them.”

 

“Yeah, well, if you see anybody wearing Legion crimson or a lot of sports equipment, you just let me know.” He spits the words out as though he doesn’t want to waste oxygen on _them._ Pandora wonders what she has stepped into now, why this man has such animosity against the Legion. He’s not the first who has expressed such distaste for them being in the Mojave though. It is confusing for her, to try and comprehend who is best for the desert, when everyone is trying to indoctrinate her into thinking that they are right.  

 

“You still haven’t answered my question.” 

 

“I was just looking around!”

 

“There’s nothing up here. I think you should leave.” 

 

“Alright alright, I’m going. I’ll see if someone else can help me.” Pan wonders why in the hell she was sent up here; this man clearly hates people, or maybe it’s just her, and she is turning away, pondering if everyone will be this way in Novac when he suddenly starts speaking again.

 

“You’re new in town. And, like I said earlier, maybe you can help me.”

 

“First you try to turf me out of here and now you want my help?” 

 

He tells her about his wife, Carla. Tells her about how she was sold into slavery to the Legion by someone in town, about how no one will admit to doing it. He wants her to find the suspect; she can get away with creeping around with a face like hers. No one will suspect she’s up to no good. As soon as she knows who it is, she’ll be out the front of the dinosaur with them, and he’ll enact his justice. She takes his beret with her; it’s a signal to him, giving him the go ahead. And, as quickly as she comes into his safe space, she excuses herself saying she needs to rest. It’s still the middle of the night and the nearest town to Novac is miles away. 

 

As she leaves- this mysterious woman- Boone despises himself for noticing she has a pretty face.

 

********

 

Pandora knows she has sworn off doing menial tasks for people, tasks that won’t help get her to her own end goal, but there is something about the sniper wanting to get his own justice. It’d be hypocritical of her to dismiss him so quickly when they’re both walking the same road.  She knows their justice is murder but she does not care. Some people deserve to die- she hopes she is not one of them.

 

The sun bathes the patio outside her rented room with warmth and she basks out there after a short nap. There isn’t often time for these brief moments of respite and it heals her more than any chemical can. Eyes closed, she lays back and remembers her mother, a tribal. Fierce and nurturing and cold all at once. Her eyes had been amber, like wolves eyes Pandora had seen in photos from before the war. She has never met her father but knows she must have got her eyes from him.

 

There is a day of subtle interrogation, questions about the snipers wife that are so slight, the townspeople of Novac don’t even realise they’re being questioned at all. No one seems to know anything about Carla being sold, or no one wants to take any responsibility for it. They all want to be absolved of the crime of apathy. And so, realising that words are pointless for this particular task, she turns to more devious methods. It is easy for her to play the ignorant woman, the _dumb_ woman, and no one seems to be at all bothered by her snooping around. There are lingering looks at pieces of paper, listening in on conversations and then there is a locked safe. It is well hidden, on the floor under a mat, behind the reception at the motel. So well hidden that is is only noticeable by Pandora by the change in noise when her foot hits it. Not uncommon for a business owner to have a safe, she gets that, but it is what might be _in_ the safe that interests her. Some small braids fall in her face as she removes a hair pin from where it previously was and plays with the lock. Too much force and it breaks. It only takes another two pins for her to crack it open and then there it is.

 

Jeannie May.

 

What a bitch.

 

Pandora’s job is nearly done. Now it’s just the matter of bringing her to the front of the dinosaur. She is Charon, leading Jeannie May to Hades. 

 

“Jeannie May!” Pandora knocks on her door later that night, her voice panicked. “There’s something you need to see! Something strange outside the big dino!”

 

The older woman opens her door in a hurry and sees it is the new girl in town. She has no reason to doubt the younger woman and so she follows her out into the night. En route Pandora places the red beret on her head, as instructed by Boone, and it takes only moments for the two women to arrive outside the front of the dinosaur. Pandora goes to place her arm on Jeannie May’s shoulder, a pretend act of comfort, when she feels something warm and wet splash her face, and can taste copper in her open mouth. The older woman falls to the ground and Pandora closes her eyes. 

  
Too much, too soon. 

 

********

 

Boone finds her sitting next to the corpse of Jeannie May and frowns at her. She was agreeable to this task so what has spooked her so- has she not seen a body before? 

 

“You okay?” 

 

She is holding the left side of her head and looks up at him; even in the dim light, she looks like she has seen a ghost. 

 

“I…” She has no words but climbs to her feet. There is blood splattered across her face and Boone frowns at where her hand is. Slowly he moves it from the side of her head and looks at the area. There are two large scars, one under some fuzzy regrowth of flaxen blonde hair, the other running from her eyebrow to her ear. It takes only seconds for him to put the pieces of the puzzle together. 

 

“You’re the Courier.”

 

She nods and hands Boone back his beret. “Something like that.” Her face hardens and she turns to him. “I got the papers to say her here sold your Carla. One thing I’ve been thinking though is how you know she’s dead. From what I’ve been told, Legion tend to keep the pretty ones alive.”

 

He doesn’t answer and instead turns away from her. “I’ve got to get back to my post. Come find me in the morning if you need a travelling companion. Got no reason to stay in Novac anymore.”

 

Boone doesn’t wait for a response and leave the infamous Courier alone in the night. His head is full of questions, all hypothetical, and it’ll do him no good to breathe them to life anytime soon. Why did _she_ survive two shots to the head and Carla didn’t? No, not why. _How_ the hell did she survive two shots to the head?

 

“ _She’s a walking talking miracle, that one.”_ he thinks, now back in his snipers perch. He’s not a religious man, gave up on it after Bitter Springs, but he keeps thinking of the resurrection when he thinks of his accomplice, of her rebirth. 

 

One day he might even ask her whose sins she died for. Not now though. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's that? Ammy posted an update?
> 
> Thanks for all the hits and kudos and love you're all giving me- you guys ;3
> 
> Ps— leave me comments! I’m greedy for them (and like talking to people reading this tale!)


	5. Five

Pandora rises late the next day, the sun already high in the sky. She doesn’t want to get up, wants to stay hidden in her room all day and try to deal with the suppressed emotions that are bubbling under the surface, but that won’t help her. The noise of the gunshot next to her head the previous night is almost too much to bear. She has remembered the checkered suit and a face. He was very matter-of-fact about the situation he had put her in, about causing her death, and she remembers praying in those last few seconds. Not that it made a difference- she was shot anyway.

 

_“But I’m alive. Isn’t that a miracle?”_

 

       It is hard for her to feel so _fragile_ ; the feelings are unfamiliar to her. For as long as she can remember (‘ _which isn’t much_ ’ she thinks sardonically) she has been in control of every aspect of her life, even if it has given her a reputation as an ice-cold bitch. She can work with that. Feeling like she’s about to crumble, a flower in a storm, is a horrible feeling. No one will take her seriously if she wilts at ordinary situations; she needs to get over flinching every time a bullet passes by her head. 

       Cowboy hat back on top of her head, she wanders around town, consciously avoiding the front of the dinosaur. Killings are normal and not too much will be said about Jeannie May, but she’d rather not be linked to it at all. She sells off the junk she has accrued in her backpack, happy to add to the stash of caps hidden away, and buys a new gun. Her old 9mm is a piece of shit now, due to lack of maintenance on her part, and looking like it is older than time. For a scavenged gun though, it has kept her alive. Chores done for the day, she heads up to the dinosaur to see if Boone has emerged yet. She’s done him a favour so maybe he can help her out. Instead, there is the other sniper up in its mouth.

 

       “…Manny, wasn’t it?” He turns to face her, standing up with a start, and so she quickly continues. “We spoke yesterday about Boone’s wife. Not here on any sort of fact finding mission for anyone else. Just wondering if you’d see any interesting characters come through town in the last month.”

 

       Manny smiles at Pandora and leans back against the wall. “We see a lot of interesting folk come this way. You might need to narrow it down a little bit.”

 

       “I think he had on…” She wracks her brain for the right word- ugly suits aren’t uncommon in this post-war world, as much as she’d love to describe it this way- and then clicks her fingers. “It was a checkered suit. Mucky brown sorta colour. Maybe he was with some other men as well.”

 

       “Well listen, maybe I know but maybe I need you to do a favour for me first.” She raises one eyebrow at him, her mind going to some interesting places, and he laughs at the expression on her face. “Nothing like that! We got a ghoul problem and was hoping you’d go check it out for me. I’d go myself but obviously I’m here in the day and don’t fancy going to have a look in the middle of the night.”

 

       “Isn’t there anything less…walking into probable death that I can do for you?”

 

       “‘Fraid not, little lady. Help for help and there isn’t anything else I need.”

 

       Pandora sighs and rubs her temples, another headache forming. “Okay fine. But if it gets too hairy, I’m bailing. Already died once and it wasn’t fun.”

 

       There isn’t any time to waste; it is already past midday and she wants to hit the road as quickly as she can. The coordinates for the REPCONN test site have been punched into the Pip Boy, and there’s only one more thing left to do. Hoping he won’t be too pissed at her, she knocks the door and only moments later does it open. Boone sticks his head out and she knows he is glaring at her from behind his glasses. 

 

       “So, you still want to leave Novac for a bit? I’ve got a job to do and could really use a hand.” He shrugs at this- she knows this means yes- and so proceeds. “Well, I’ll go grab some stuff from my room and give you a few moments to sort out. We need to go to some old test site from before the war, clear out some ghouls.”

 

       Within the hour, they are on the open road, heading West. Boone is easy to travel with; he barely speaks and is a good shot, which is all she can ask for. As she isn’t used to travelling with anyone, the silence is familiar but having the extra gun works out in her favour. It turns out fighting Powder Gangers and the odd hooligan on the road is one thing- humans are slow and predictable- but ghouls move surprisingly _quickly_ , a lesson she learns after being bitten on the arm by one. Boone takes it out, a clean headshot, before it can do anymore damage to Pandora, while she starts backing away from the facility. When the coast is clear, he follows her and kneels down to her height, looking at her arm. 

 

       “You’ll need to clean it properly, disinfect it.” He mutters to her, sighing at he watches her waste purified water on the wound. “You know that’s not going to do much to stave off infection. If you’ve got some vodka-”

 

       “Do I look like I just carry about bottles of vodka?”

 

       “-Anyway, vodka or any sort of liquor will really clean it out. Wasting water and now bandages. Seriously Courier-”

 

       “Piss off Boone. I have a name! You know my name! Even calling me Six is better than Courier.”

 

       “Okay then SIX,” he says, making sure he really emphasises the number, “Do you not know anything about field medicine? Alcohol will clean out your wound, properly clean it out. It’ll burn but you don’t want a ghoul bite festering either. When it’s clean, Stimpak it and THEN bandage it up. Would help to get some Radaway in you as well when it’s convenient.”

 

       Pandora looks up at him glaring, too proud to admit she knows everything he has just told her is _right_. She feels stupid for getting bitten in the first place, knowing it was a rookie mistake. Courier Six, the infamous Courier Six, survives two shots to the head only to killed by a ghoul bite. 

 

       How embarrassing.

 

       “Oh goddamnit Boone. I’m sorry, okay? Not used to swarms of those creepy bastards, just one or two at a time, and just pissed off that I got bitten.”

 

       “Yeah well, try to avoid letting their teeth get as close next time. Better to get out the way and let me take the shot.”

 

       He knows he’s right, she knows he’s right, and its a goddamn bitter pill to swallow. Pandora isn’t used to relying on people for help, hasn’t relied on people for a long time, and now it’s frustrating for her to _need_ some help. She remembers Doc Mitchell telling her it’d take her time to get back on her feet, that her injury was traumatic and he has no way of knowing if she was brain damaged by the bullets, but it’s been over a month and she’s getting irritated by headaches, by her reflexes being slower than she knows they should be, by _needing someone_ to stop her being eaten by a ghoul. 

 

       Bite bandaged up and sleeve rolled down, Pandora stands and they continue, without further drama, into the building. There are still some ghouls around but fewer than before; Pandora is visibly relieved at this, which Boone notices. He comments on it before he can stop himself, a rarity for the normally quiet man. 

 

       “You got an issue with ghouls? Not come across many of them during deliveries?”

 

       She purses her lips together and looks sideways at him. “Well feral’s don’t exactly need much delivered.. Isn’t that though. It’s…I mean, with the feral’s, their brain is all rotted and mushy, and it’s all because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. They were people once before too many rads and now they ain’t much at all, just surviving but not living, you know? Just makes me think it could be me or you, wrong place at the wrong time.”

 

       “You’d know all about that,” he mutters, thinking he is being inaudible. However, Pandora clearly hears this and flinches like she has been struck. He mentally kicks himself, not meaning to take his bad mood out on her. “…That came out wrong….sorry.”

 

       “You’re right though.” She stretches and looks at him, her eyes cold. “And I’m going to find who shot me and shoot him right back, enough times that there won’t be enough left of him to come back and kill anyone else again.”

 

       Boone notices her fists are clenched and doesn’t want to provoke her any further. He’s heard all the stories about her on the radio, gossip from Mr New Vegas, proclaiming that she single handedly saved Goodsprings after rising from the grave. People seem to think she is some kind of modern-day Messiah, but he knows they are so wrong. No, from what he has seen of her, she is a Valkyrie, choosing who lives and who dies. She is cold, reckless and intelligent, and whoever shot her certainly pissed off the wrong courier. He’d hate to get on her bad side.

 

       “We rest up here.” The tone of his voice suggests it is not up for debate and, despite waking up late, it has been a testing day for Pandora; she doesn’t disagree with him on this occasion. “I’ll take first watch, make sure no one gets through this door.”

 

       She nods and climbs onto one of the cots. It’s dirty, covered in a layer of dust from god knows when, but it’s a bed. She prefers camping under the stars, truth be told, on a sleeping mat, but she’s not one to turn her nose up at a bed when it’s available. Within minutes, she has fallen into a restless sleep. Boone knows it’s restless from her kicking legs and the soft murmurings spilling from her lips. It feels like an intrusion into her mind and he tries to tune her out, lest he hears something he shouldn’t. 

       Carla. He can’t help but think of his wife; she still offers him comfort during these lonely nights, solace in his solitude. No, there is no solace he deserves. He knows the only reason he is thinking of her is due to that damned courier laying asleep mere feet away from him. He wants to ask her if it hurt being shot in the head, but there is no tactful way to even introduce that into any polite conversation. From Six’s response to having a bullet just go near her head and the way he can see she carves half moons into her palms as she rests, her feelings on the subject matter are more transparent than she’ll ever admit to. No one will dare confront her, make her confess those innermost feelings or (Boone suspects) they’ll end up with their own bullet lodged somewhere. And so, he stares into the dark corridors, watching and waiting for something that might never happen. The hours pass by and, inside the building, there is no concept of day or night. Boone is only just starting to feel tired when he hears Six gasp behind him, jumping upright. He turns to her and frowns behind his sunglasses. 

 

       “Are you ready to move out now?” 

 

       Pandora looks towards his voice and wipes the corners of her sleep-dry eyes. Her body is weary but she knows this is a statement, not a question, coming from Boone’s lips and so she nods. Dragging herself to her feet, she looks to her Pipboy and sees it is 3am. “Boone, why didn’t you wake me up? You need to sleep as well.”

 

       “I’m used to working through the night. Besides, you looked like you needed more rest than me.” He turns away from her and heads back into one of the corridors, and Pandora can hear his feet pad away from her into the shroud. Despite their obvious differences, she feels he won’t stab her in the back or, at least, hopes he won’t stab her and so she follows him. There are a few more ghouls to be taken out- a lot less than on the buildings exterior- and soon they get to a locked door. Pandora has a few attempts to trying to wrestle it open, ignoring the pain in her arm, before she gives up and looks around. There is an intercom a few foot away from her and she rolls her eyes at herself for her complete lack of awareness. 

 

       “Do you know anything about this place Boone? Other than all the ghouls?”

 

       “If you’re asking whose going to answer that intercom then…” he merely shrugs in response. 

 

       “Well, this door ain’t going to open itself so lets hope whoever is on the other side is friendly.” Pandora coughs, clearing her throat, and then speaks into the intercom. “Hello…?”

 

       No time passes before a voice, a gruff voice in that, responds. “We’ve been watching you smoothskin. We’ll let you in but you’d better watch yourself.” And then the disembodied voice goes and Pandora whips her head around to look at Boone. He’s as close to smirking at her as she thinks she’s ever seen. 

 

       “Smoothskin? What the hell? Was that a ghoul I was speaking to? Normally they’re a lot less…eloquent?”

 

       Boone pushes past her and through the previously locked door. “Try not to stare too much. They don’t like that.”

 

       Pandora follows him through, only to walk into the back of Boone. There is a man blocking their way and when Pandora slides around the front of Boone, the man speaks. “God but are you ugly! Get upstairs and talk to Jason before I throw up just from looking at you.”

 

       “You’re not a ghoul.” Pandora looks from the man to Boone, who looks just as perplexed as her, and they both look back towards the man. 

 

       “Your pranks won’t work on me, smoothskin. They won’t work on Jason either.” the other man retorts.

 

       “But…your skin is probably smoother than mine.”

 

       “Stop wasting my time. Go waste Jason’s.”

 

********

 

Pandora and Boone enter the basement later that day, having heard the tale of demons and the creator. Her arm is aching and she’s wondering what demons Jason Bright was making reference to. Boone, as quiet as ever, can’t offer any further advice on the matter, of what the illusive demons in the basement actually are; it’s not a term he has ever heard used, either as a sniper in Novac or in the NCR. Pan is a little further ahead of him, walking cautiously in the low lighting, when there is just the slightest shimmer within the light. 

 

       “Get do-” he goes to shout to her, trying to get her out the way but before the words can properly be formed, the distortion becomes solid and he knows the demons Jason Bright was talking about are Nightkin. Pandora shrieks and tries to leap backwards out of the way of it, but the club it brandishes has more range than her. It only takes a second for the crude concrete weight to collide with her chest, knocking the breath out of her lungs and sending her sprawling down the corridor. Winded, she can do nothing more but try to blink the stars from her eyes and clutch the floor with claw-like hands, hoping she’ll hear the familiar sound of a shot from Boone’s rifle. Her ribs are hurting like nothing else and suddenly the prospect of dying from an ghoul-related infection seems such a peaceful way to go compared to being crushed under a rebar club. Knuckles white from exertion, she remembers the checkered-suit, remembers staring down the barrel of a gun under moonlight. Then there is a gunshot. 

       Boone runs over to her, stepping quickly over the body of the nightkin and looks down at her. Relief radiates from him as she smiles up at him weakly. In his minds eye, her chest had already been caved in and there would be nothing more he could do for her. Dropping to his knees, he goes to undo her shirt to look for any injuries before hesitating slightly. Looking over to her, he sees her nod her permission and then he unbuttons it. The ribs on her right hand side ribs are a swirl of purples and yellows and reds, and he thanks _someone_ for not killing her. She deserves her revenge first. 

 

       “This is going to hurt,” he tells her before jabbing a Stimpak into her ribs. Her eyes go wide and she clutches the floor even tighter than before- he can see the soft sheen of sweat on her face and can’t begin to imagine how much pain she’s in. And then she relaxes as the drugs take effect and moments later, she rolls onto her side slightly to spit blood from her mouth that has been pooling there. 

 

       “Do you hurt anywhere else?” Boone scans her body and sees only scrapes from skidding across the ground.

 

       She shakes her head and tries to sit up- her body is shaking and it _hurts,_ but she thanks God that she’s still around to feel pain. “I bit my tongue,” she replies quietly and then pats Boones hand. It is an unexpected gesture to them both but she’s not used to having people on her side. Boone’s body is stiff and then he pats the top of her hand awkwardly before pulling away and standing up. 

 

       “I’ll clear out the rest of the basement. You should stay here.” 

 

       Pandora needs in agreement- she’s too uncomfortable to even think about disagreeing with Boone and knows he’s making the smart decision. Following him this time would only end up with them both being killed. And so, she leans back against the wall and closes her eyes, praying that she doesn't get ambushed by another nightkin. At this point, she doesn’t know whether she’s highly unlucky to get both bitten by a ghoul and attacked by a nightkin within the same 24 hour period, or whether she’s actually highly lucky to survive both encounters. She must have drifted off for the noise of footsteps coming towards her wakes her up. Immediately alert, she looks to the source and sees Boone approaching, looking as unscathed as ever. 

 

       “No more nightkin down here,” he tells her acerbically, “so let’s go tell them upstairs and try to round this all up.” Seeing her physical discomfort, he helps her to her feet.

 

       “I hope they’ve got some Med-X. Could really use some.”

 

       Slowly, so slowly, they creep back upstairs where Jason Bright and his disciples are waiting with anticipation. They just about make it into the room before they are accosted by Jason. 

 

       “Well?”

 

       “Thank _him_ ,” Pandora responds, nodding her head to Boone, “as he did it all. You had nightkin in the basement and now you don’t.”

 

       “She needs some Med-X.” Boone is taciturn with this request and it doesn’t take long for someone to come running over with some. Pandora is flooded with warmth when it is injected into her and the thrumming pain in her ribs slowly begins to subside. Finally she feels like she can breathe again and sighs. 

 

       “What now?” she asks, wanting to get out of this place and go shout at Manny instead for sending her there in the first place. 

 

       There is no rest of the wicked and, right now, Pandora feels as though she is paying off a debt for many previous sins. 

 

********

 

“I have everything you need.” Pandora hands over the goods requested by Jason and frowns at Chris. She still can’t believe he has been so easily indoctrinated into believing he is a ghoul, can’t quite believe Jason is so cruel as to play into this fantasy. He  might think he is fulfilling the creators will by manipulating Chris into doing the hard work, but Pandora knows he’s Judas. “You’re so intelligent,” she blurts out, no longer caring as much about tact so much as wanting to get her own back, “so I just don’t get how you don’t get it. They won’t let you near the launchpad because the radiation will kill you. Why can’t you understand you’re human?”

 

       “You just can’t resist the chance to mess with me. Typical human.”

 

       She knows Boone will judge her massively for what she’s going to do next but hell, Chris won’t listen to reason. Instead, she smiles at him and makes eye contact before getting a little closer. “Honey, you’re no monster, not like them. You’re cute! Why, I could just about eat you up!”

 

       She can see his cheeks flush, even in the low light- her words have obviously made an impression on him. “Stop making fun of me! But, you’re telling the truth, aren’t you?” She nods and his face drops. “Oh no! How could they do this to me? For two years? I’ve been a joke to them!”

 

       “So what are you going to do about it then?” The tone of her voice is icy now, any flirtatious hints long gone. 

 

       Sabotage. That is the plan. Boone looks to Pandora as she hands over some components to ruin the launch and she is unfamiliar to him, as cold and as hard as a marble statue. It has been apparent from their first meeting she has a disposition towards violence- it obviously doesn’t bother her.

 

       “We need to go to the viewing platform to activate the launch.” There is nothing in her face to suggest she has any remorse for what is about to unfold and she leads him to a room towards the top of the building. From there, they can both see where the rockets will attempt to launch. 

 

       “Are you sure you want to go through with this?” he suddenly asks her, wanting to clear his own conscience. 

 

       She turns to him, eyes steely and fists balled up. “They deserve to be punished, Boone. They took advantage of someone for their own gain and have just…abandoned him!”

 

       “But murdering them? Why does it have to be you judging them?”

 

       “Because why should I let someone else carry this weight.” She mashes down on the button to start the launch, her knuckles white from her tightly clenched fingers, and looks back to him. “I won’t hate you if you don’t want to travel with me anymore but shit Boone! This whole world is all sorts of messed up, and I’m sick of bad people just being allowed to do what they want and get away with it!”

 

       Boone’s arms fall to his side, as resigned as he feels about the path Pandora has condemned the ghouls to, and listens as the music starts to play. He should be full of a sense of wonderment at a rocket launch, at a spectacle completely unheard of in this post-war wasteland of a world, but instead he watches in quiet horror as the rockets lift momentarily before crashing to the earth in flames. The heat can be felt from the explosion and he looks to Pandora to see if there is any hint of _remorse_ on her face. She is looking back at him and there is _something_ going on behind her eyes, but he can’t pinpoint it. 

 

       “Don’t you judge me, Boone. I led a woman to her death for you so don’t you say a damned word to me!”

 

       The long walk back to Novac is painfully silent but Pandora is glad to be back. Her arm is itching like crazy but speaking to Manny is the first thing she wants to do. She’s done her part and now it’s time for him to pay up.

 

       “Your ghoul issue is all sorted out. Now tell me what you know!” 

 

       Manny smiles slowly at Pandora. “The man in the checkered suit. What do you want with him?”

 

       “I have a score to settle.” She tries to be nonchalant but her frustration is apparent and she grabs his shirt. “Please tell me what you know!”

 

       “The man is called Benny.” Manny whispers to her, slowly unclasping her hands from his front. “He was travelling with some members of my old gang, said they were heading up to Boulder City.”

 

       She steps back from Manny and touches the left side of her head, feels the scar tissue and fuzzy hair. Benny, the man who took it all from her. 

 

_“End of the road for you.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise that a coyote-headed sociopath is coming soon.
> 
> (JSYK- going to draft most of the rest of this story before posting so I'm going to be awol for a while).


	6. Six

New Vegas beckons to her through the darkness, the artificial lighting creating an aura in the night sky that can be seen for miles. Impatient, she walks faster while thumbing the lighter Jessup gave to her. Everything she has wanted since being reborn is so close now- she is consumed with wanting her revenge, wanting to know _why_ he chose her to shoot in the head. And, as she gets closer, her feet almost stumble over themselves in the hurried effort to get there faster than her body is capable of moving. In her minds eye, she is Iris- her body moves effortlessly across a spectrum of colour, ankles winged like Hermes himself as she cuts through the air itself to get to her destination.

       Freeside is decrepit and she wonders why the NCR, bunkered up inside the Strip, don’t do more to assist with the common folk. _‘Still,’_ she thinks, trying not to breathe in the smells of burning rubber and piss too deeply, _‘what can I do about it? I’m just one person with enough caps for me. Nothing I do right now can change any of this.’_

 

       And so, she continues until she finally gets to the entrance of the Strip. Behind the high walls, she can see neon lights and hear the people, safe from the outside world inside their gilded cage. She thinks what Boone would say about all this, if anything at all. There is a small pang in her stomach- she has missed having him around to watch her back, but knows its for the best that he doesn’t follow her during this particular exodus of hers. He doesn’t have to say anything to her but she knows he has judged her for her previous actions. Maybe after this, when she’s less consumed by her own bloodlust, they can learn how to be friends and not merely accomplices. 

 

       “Submit to a credit check or present your passport to before proceeding to the gate. Trespassers will be shot.” An electronic voice behind her interrupts her thoughts and she looks to see a Securitron, the face of an old-world police officer, watching her. 

 

       Cautiously, she holds her hands up as though already in trouble with the law. “I submit to the credit check.” 

 

       “You’re free to enter. Enjoy your stay, ma’am.” it replies after only seconds and then it departs. She exhales the breath she didn’t even realises she was holding and then the gates open. Finally, after so long of searching, she is here. To her left is the tallest building she’s sure she has ever seen, a beacon of light in the darkness. The Lucky 38, that is its name. And, to the bottom of the staircase leading to its entrance, she sees something familiar but cannot put her finger on what it is exactly. She shrugs off the uncanniness- if it were important, she’d have remember it by now she guesses. A securitron appears, one with the most familiar face. She hasn’t seen him since Goodsprings. 

 

       Victor.

 

       He explains to Pandora that he was under strict instructions from his employer to dig Pandora from the grave, to keep her alive. Mr House, that is his name and, as it turns out, also the name of the man who employer her as Courier Six in the first place. The Platinum Chip- that’s what got her killed. The chip that Benny has on his body, that Mr House isn’t allowed to get himself, lest he start a war in New Vegas.  Despite Victors protests, she tells Victor she’ll go see Mr House another time, perhaps later on that day, and cuts the conversation short by darting away.

       All around her are people celebrating wins and commiserating losses. She sees the prostitutes outside a place called Gomorrah, which draws a blush high on her cheeks and makes the tips of her ears turn pink as they call out to her- she can only remember one sexual encounter in her twenty five years on the planet, and her own inexperience makes her feel consciously naive surrounded by such overt promiscuity. 

       Looking away and trying to conceal how red her face is, she continues down the Strip until she sees a familiar place name- one that Jessup told her to look for. The Tops. It looks nice and then she looks down at herself, at the frayed shorts and dust-stained white shirt. 

 

       _‘Oh my God, I look like a tramp. No way they’ll let me in there.’_

 

She knows it’s her nerves talking her down and actually people can wear what they want on the Strip- she has the money to be there, after all. Looking around, she sees women dancing in their underwear in a fountain nearby and sees other people looking as bedraggled as she does. And then her nerves become too much and she backs away from the entrance before sitting on a nearby bench.

 

       _‘You haven’t even got a plan to kill Benny. No way you can just run in there guns blazing and expect to survive this time.’_

 

The solution is so obvious to her but she’s trying to think of some other way, other than exchanging her body for time with him alone. For a moment, she puts her head in her hands, wanting to pretend briefly she has other options, but then the reality kicks in. She needs somewhere to stay, to quickly organise herself, before she takes the final step in what feels to have been the longest road walked. Grateful everywhere is lit up, she sees a sign advertising rooms for hire.

       It’s a Vault- Vault 21 specifically. Pandora can’t remember ever coming across a Vault in her travels- she’s heard rumours about them though and knows most of them as mausoleums now, relics of the pre-war world entombed within. Rubbing goosebumps from her arms, she steps into the entrance and is relieved that it’s not going to be a crypt. A young woman smiles at her as she walks towards the check in desk.

 

       “Hi there! You looking to rent a room or buy some souvenirs? We sell some amazing replica 

Vault suits as well!” The girl is blonde and bubbly. “I can also take you on a tour if you’d like! I was born and raised right here, can tell you everything you’d want to know about it!”

 

       “Errrr just the room? Please?” 

   

       The girls face drops, just momentarily, but then she’s asking for caps and pointing Pandora in the right direction. She can’t imagine growing up in such an enclosed space- she was born in the North, where the snow falls constantly and the sky is constantly overcast, but they have huge trees and mountains and the ocean is on their doorstep. _‘Not that that’s home either now. This place is my home.’_ she thinks. She loves the Mojave, loves its infinite skies and the night stalkers and the relentless sun. She can’t imagine ever leaving.

       In her room, she wonders how she’s actually going to _kill_ Benny. It’d be poetic to shoot him in the head and she’s had many daydreams about riddling him with enough bullet holes that he’ll be unrecognisable afterwards. However, the reality is she’s seen how many NCR troopers there are patrolling the Strip, and she’d likely end up worse off. Contents of her small backpack emptied onto her bed, she filters through them looking for inspiration and then it’s apparent. Subterfuge. It takes only minutes for her to freshen up, to wipe the Mojave from her face and body, and put on a clean (albeit creased) shirt from her backpack. And then she heads back to The Tops. 

    

       Once inside, Pandora is surprised to see how well preserved it is. It’s not the time to dwell on this though and she steps up to the desk. A man smiles at her, the smile lingering on his face just a little too long, but she’s in their world now and has to play by their rules. Or so they’d like to believe. She smiles back at him and then his face drops.

 

       “Hey hey, baby doll! We’ve already warned you once! You’re banned from here!” His arms are suddenly pinning her own to her body and she is starting to be frog marched back to the entrance. 

 

       “H-hey! Just one moment!” Digging her heels in, she jolts to an abrupt stop and turns her head to face the man. “This sounds crazy but I’ve got amnesia and I can’t remember what I did! Can you at least fill me in?”

 

       “Doing something to the machines and with the cards! You always won too much money, too many times. Ain’t right to be that damned good for no reason!” 

 

       “Okay so-” She wriggles out of his grasp and turns to him, “-if you hold onto all my caps, apart from enough for one drink, will you let me stay?” The man looks like he is about to protest this so she hurries on before he can interrupt her. “I promise, I won’t gamble. It’s just- I _need_ to be here tonight. Look, just take them now!” She takes the few caps she has on her possession and shoves them into his hands. 

 

       There is an uncomfortable pause and he looks at her like he cannot trust her but then smiles broadly. “Sounds like a deal to me. Now that unpleasant business is outta the way, let us start over. Before you can go any further, we just need you to hand over any weapons you might be carrying. I promise you they’ll be as safe as kittens!” 

 

       “Sure, here you go!” she replies, her voice light as she hands over what little she has bothered to bring with her from her rented accommodation. Not carrying anything would be suspicious and they don’t need to know what she has concealed on her. Before she can get sucked into another meaningless conversation, she slips away from him and heads to the bar. Her insides are all twisted up as she sips on piss-poor whiskey, the alcohol trying to stop her shaking hands and give her the confidence to actually face the Devil himself and demand answers from Him. And then, on the opposite side of the room, she sees the suit that has caused her sleepless nights and countless headaches, and the loss of memories and experiences she has no way of getting back. Oh, how she wants to shoot him in his stupid face but that’s not the plan. Pandora stands and walks towards him, making sure not to rush as he is surrounded by bodyguards. It takes a moment, just the briefest of moments, for him to make eye contact with her and for the colour to leave his face. 

 

       Show time. 

 

       “What in the goddamn…?” He looks at her like he is seeing a sprit, a ghost sent to haunt him. However, she notices how quickly he composes himself. “Let’s keep this in the groove, hey?  Smooth moves, like smooth little babies…”

 

       Pandora hates herself for what she has to do to herself but knows it’s the only way. Hopelessly outnumbered and outgunned, she smiles at him and twists some of her hair around one finger. “When you shot me, you ran off so fast I never got your name.” 

 

       “You making a pass at me, sister? Because I’m outta your league.”

 

       “What can I say? I like bad boys and you’ve been downright awful.”

 

       Pandora wishes she could laugh at the look on his face as he processes her coming onto him. The smile plastered on her face keeps him from noticing her shaking knees.  

 

       “You’re one sick pussycat, baby. There’s quins and then there’s…I don’t even know what to call you!”

 

       She leans into him slightly and strokes one finger down his chest, knowing he’s interested in what she’s propositioning. “I’m saying I dig you, despite it all. What do you say?” 

 

       “I hear dig from you, babe, and all I can think of is a shovel. How can this be? This ain’t forgiveness, it’s something…wrong.”

 

       “I’m a courier, remember. Don’t you want me to handle your package?” Pandora hates herself and knows Boone would be rolling his eyes at her godawful puns. Hell, she wants to roll her eyes at her own puns, at how desperate she must sound to bed him. The last thing she wants to do is fuck this man, but she has no other options.

 

       “All right, honey baby! This is all kinds of wrong, but to my suite it is. Thirteenth floor. Don’t keep me waiting.” With that, Benny strides off with a spring in his step and Pandora has to take a moment to mentally compose herself.

 

       _‘He deserves to die for what he did. You said you’ll do whatever it takes. No price is high enough to make this right.’_

As the lift ascends to Benny’s floor, where she knows he is waiting for her, she feels as though she is actually descending to the Underworld. Styx will be waiting for her there, to cash in on the debt that is Pandora’s life, one that is now overdue. Pandora shakes her head, ignoring the dark thoughts and steps out as the doors open. It’s obvious which suite is his and she walks through large, open doors to see him waiting. As soon as she’s in there, he strides behind her, shutting the doors and she hears them lock. Trapped.

 

       Benny smiles at her and she takes it as her cue to get the ball rolling. She just wants this over and done with. His eyes drop down to her body as she unbuttons her shirt and lets it drop to the floor. The boots come off afterwards and she slides her shorts off before looking back at him. 

 

      “You’re platinum, pussycat! You know how to swing!” The look on his face is that of desire, of arousal at her, and she prays he’s going to take the lead. She might lack modesty ( _‘Nothing you haven’t seen before!’_ she once told Boone, ignoring his nonplussed expression as he walked in on her in the nude) but she lacks sexual experience. Thank God he takes the lead and pushes her back through some more doors and onto the bed. Then he kisses her, leaning over her body with his own, and invading her mouth with his tongue. Pandora knows she _must_ have been kissed properly at some point after the loss of her virginity, but it’s not something she can remember. It’s hard to focus on this as he continues to kiss her, his mouth moving down onto her jawline and then onto her neck. And now she’s in a hurry to get on with _it_ , and so she shrugs his jacket off him and starts to unbutton his shirt. 

 

       “In a hurry to get to the good part?” His tone is amusement and she nods- she wants to pity him for not understanding what the good part is for her but no. He deserves her wrath.

 

       It doesn’t take long for him to finish undressing himself, and then he’s pushing Pandora down onto the bed and slipping her underwear off. She wonders about foreplay, about having someone want to make her feel _something_ , and hates these intrusive thoughts. Hands go behind her back and start to fumble with her bra strap and she freezes momentarily before pushing Benny off her. 

 

       “I’ll do it,” she says, smiling coyly at him and he watches at she carefully unhooks the latch before sliding it off and placing it carefully to the floor. As soon as she looks back to him, he’s on her in seconds and she’s pushed back down onto the bed, hands roughly pushing her legs open as he starts to climb between them and tongue back in her mouth. She feels like a vessel, a mere object for him to gain his own sexual gratification in, but she knew these were the terms. A finger brushes across her slit, making her wince and then he’s pushing into her and she gasps, closing her eyes. He says nothing, mistaking her discomfort for enjoyment, and doesn’t take long before he’s pushing in and out of her. Her thighs hurt from him dragging them open further, further than she feels she can be pulled, and his fingertips dig into her arms. There is a painful moment and a gasp gets caught in her throat, eyes prickling with tears, and she hides her face next to the neck of the man who ruined her life. 

       It doesn’t take long for Benny to reach his climax and he moans in her ear before collapsing on her, his sweat mingling with her own. They do not talk like lovers or friends, and she stares at the ceiling, praying to whichever deity might be listening that he falls asleep soon.

       

      

********

 

     He’s sleeping peacefully now and her body _aches._ Her thighs hurt from being pulled open, from being roughly grabbed and groped, and there is a dull throbbing inside, and all she can smell and taste is the man who she is going to kill in a few moments time. She can’t quite believe it has come down to this, to letting some man fuck her so she can get him alone- she’s not modest and doesn’t care who sees her body, but feels poignant in this moment for the loss of another part of her. She’s never had a proper lover, not since she slept with a man far too young to really understand her body, and now she’s laying next to someone who will be dead in moments. Steeling herself, she slips out of his bed, as quiet as a nymph, and finds her discarded bra. Benny was more than happy to watch her strip for him and, in doing so, he never had the opportunity to see the switchblade she’s concealed in her bra. It was uncomfortable to wear but a necessary evil to smuggle it in. 

 

       For just a moment, she looks down at him, at his handsome face, and she hates him for everything he has taken from her. It only takes seconds for her to drag the blade across his throat and for the crimson track to follow the blade, and only a few more seconds for Benny to die.

 

       Pandora can’t quite believe it’s over. After months of chasing him across the desert, of running a million random tasks for people to get just the smallest snippet of information to help her on her way, and now he’s gone and she’s not sure what to do with herself. 

 

       _‘The Platinum Chip,’_ she thinks, ‘ _has to be around here somewhere.’_

 

She thinks of where she’d put her most valued possessions and then climbs off the bed, looking for where he discarded his clothing. And then there it is, barely concealed in a trouser pocket. Slipping on her own underwear, she slips the Chip into her bra, knowing no one will look there. There is no rush to leave the room- the other Chairman barely concealed their half-whispers about Benny taking Pandora _all night,_ and she knows they won’t be interrupted.

 

       _‘Not us. Just me now.’_

 

Her head falls into her hands as she perches on the edge of the bed and she feels exhausted. It’s over and she has no idea what the Platinum Chip is all about, but remembers Victor telling her to see Mr House. She can’t face the thought of seeing another egotistical man tonight though- another man who condemned her to an early grave- and she thinks about heading back to her room in the vault when-

       The door outside clicks open and it wakes her from her reverie. Climbing from the bed, she grabs the gun- Maria- and steps outside the bedroom door. Looking around, she can’t see anyone and wonders if she has imagined it when a hand grabs her mouth and another hand grabs her arm, twisting it painfully behind her so she drops the gun. 

 

       “Do as I say and I promise you, Courier, that you won’t get hurt.” Pandora feels frozen with nerves, knowing the voice and remembering the terrible things she saw when they last met. He twists her arm further back so she is forced to bend over. His hand leaves her mouth and she hears him pick up Maria from the floor before she is shoved forwards and bent over one of the countertops. It is only now her blood runs cold and she closes her eyes, afraid of what is likely to happen next. 

 

       “Who are you?” The whisper is barely audible but the man hears and smiles.

 

       “I am Vulpes Inculta, of Caesar’s Legion. I serve my master as the greatest of his Frumentarii.”  His voice is as smooth as she remembers, as pleasant as syrup sliding down her throat and her breath hitches at how warm it makes her feel. No, it’s more than that. There is a feeling in the pit of her stomach and she is shocked at her own unexpected arousal. Her cheeks flush and God strike him down, Vulpes notices and laughs at her while still not relinquishing his tight hold on her.      

       “We’ve been watching you for a while. The eyes of Caesar are everywhere, and you are an enigma.” She feels the barrel of the gun push her hair back, back from the temple and there is a pause before Vulpes continues. “So it _is_ true. You’ve been quite the talk of the Mojave. I certainly enjoyed what you did to those beasts with their rockets. Tell me- why?”

 

       “I-They used someone and…they left him.” Her own excuse sounds pitiful to her when she speaks it out loud so she tries to continue. “He was loyal to them and they…they deserved it.”

 

       Vulpes doesn’t reply immediately, but she hears him hum quietly. Then he learns forward, his pelvis pushing tightly against her body and his breath tickles her ear.

 

       “You are beguiling, Courier.” he whispers in her ear causing more goosebumps to run up her exposed limbs. “Beguiling and cold, just as I am. We would be good together, you and I.” She gulps, keeping her eyes closed tightly as she feels Maria next to her temple, and she hears a repressed laugh. “Does this gun really cause you so much discomfort?” 

 

       Pandora is afraid to nod, afraid that she’ll give him an excuse to pull the trigger and finish the job the Benny started. It is obvious to Vulpes who laughs at her again but then moves it away. “Don’t worry. There are far more interesting ways to hurt a person. You should be grateful your death was quick, as was your rebirth.” He twists her arm tighter, causing her to cry out and tears to spring to the corners of her eyes. “If I were to hurt you Courier, I’d draw it out a lot longer. And, I promise you, I wouldn’t make the same mistakes as that idiot profligate.”

 

       “Why are you telling me all this?” Her free hand is gripping tightly to the counter, knuckles white and nails digging in trying to ignore the pain he is inflicting upon her. 

 

       “You were there in Nipton. You know first hand what I am capable of. Take it as a compliment that we’re having this conversation. Or maybe-” The hand, preciously holding Maria to her head, now strokes the inside of her thigh and her body goes stiff, “-conversation is wasted on a degenerate like you. After all-” His hand moves further down and strokes in between her legs, feeling the wet patch on her underwear, before moving away, “-it seems you prefer to not talk. I wouldn’t have taken you for a whore-”

 

       “-I am not a whore!” she snaps back at him and he suddenly twists her around so they are facing each other finally. He wears an ugly brown suit but it doesn’t disguise that he is the most beautiful man she has never seen, with blonde hair messy from the hat placed on the countertop, and eyes that are ice blue, cold and piercing. 

 

       Hand still clutching her wrist tightly, he leans into her so their lips are nearly touching. “You still have another man’s seed inside you. I don’t know who you’re trying to convince.”

 

       “Why are you here?” God, how she wants to lean in further and close the distance between them, but she knows he’s dangerous and playing with her.

 

       He smiles at her and reaches into his jacket before pulling something out. It looks like a gold locket or pendant from what she can see. “My Lord requires your presence at his camp, at Fortification Hill. His mark will guarantee your safe-conduct through our lands.” With that, he grabs both her hands and pushes the Mark into it.

 

       “Why does he want to see me?” She is wide eyed, knowing the reputation of the Legion and, as flippant as she may be about them, she isn’t naive enough to walk into their lands without knowing why.

 

       “He admires your accomplishments. Like I said, his eyes are everywhere and we’ve been watching you for some time. Any crimes you may have perpetrated against the Legion are hereby forgiven.” One of his hands reaches up to her face and he tucks her hair behind one ear. “Caesar will not extend this mercy a second time.”

 

       Pandora does not know what to say, does not know how to react. Benny’s still-warm body is in the next room over and her head feels heavy with fatigue. She knows what Boone will say, dare she mention her invitation, and knows what how the NCR will react should she speak to them about it as well. But still… “Tell Caesar I accept his invitation but…how do I get there?”

 

       “Seek Caesar by way of Cottonwood Cove, south of Nelson. The Cursor Lucullus will be waiting.” And, as quickly as he has encroached on her personal space, he leaves it and sweeps his hat up in one hand before placing it carefully on top of his head. “Until we meet again, Courier.” 

 

       Vulpes turns from her and exits the room, door closing behind him without so much as a second look. Pandora stares at it for the briefest of moments before turning her back on it. It’s time for her to get back to work.

 

       _‘No rest for the wicked, which I certainly am.’_

      

 

       

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *finger guns*
> 
> I swear this chapter wasn’t meant to be this long. Imagine if I didn’t edit it ;)


	7. Seven

The war camp is as every bit as dreary and sharp as Pandora imagined it to be but she knows she must retain some composure to come out of this intact and on top. 

 

       Three months. 

 

       She hasn’t meant to take three months to get here and hopes she won’t get shot in the head again for her tardiness. There is also the awareness that no excuse, as good as it may be, will be forgivable in the eyes on the Legion. Profligate. Dissolute. Whore. The words bounce off her as she continues her march up the hill and she presses her nails into the soft flesh of her palms, leaving half moons as a reminder to contain her anxiety. 

 

       Three months for Boone to teach her how to use a sniper rifle. Time enough for her to rest and to _heal._ The nails dig in a little deeper as she remembers Benny and her own self-inflicted misery of using her body as a tool to win. She needed the time to stop waking up screaming, trying to wipe blood off her hands that wasn’t there when the lights were switched on by Boone or Arcade. No time to be weak in this world, especially with who and what she was up against. And then she sees a familiar figure standing outside the tent that stops her in her tracks. 

 

       “You’ve cut your hair, Courier.” He remarks, walking forward to close the gap between them. “I must admit, we were all expecting you a _lot_ sooner. It doesn’t do you well to make my Lord wait.”

 

       Pandora takes her hat off, pressing it close against her chest and takes a moment to compose herself before replying. “Very observant. I can see why Caesar made you the head of the Frumentarii.”

 

       He grabs the top of one of her arms and squeezes it tight until she gasps out. “You would do well to remember where you are, Courier. He is _Lord_ Caesar and he does not tolerate such insubordination, especially not from a woman like you.”

 

       “A woman like me-” Pandora wriggles her arm out of his clutches and glares at him “-has been _invited_ here as a guest. He’s your boss, not mine. I’m not going to bow to any man here in the Mojave.”

 

       His eyes narrow at her and she once again feels like prey. There is something distinctly predator-like about him and she knows that mouthing off isn’t going to help her. People don’t just walk out of the Fort after pissing off the Legion and she wonders if Vulpes can read her mind as he merely smiles coldly at her. “Come, Courier. You’ve delayed enough.” His grasp, much stronger than before, is on her and she is being pulled firmly indoors, into where Caesar and much of his inner circle are watching her stumble in and be pushed onto her knees by Vulpes. There is the briefest flicker of a feline smile on his face before he walks away from her and takes his rightful place next to Caesar. She wants to spit at him for degrading her in such a way, for making her go against her ethos. 

       Caesar is not what she expects although admittedly, she can’t recall spending any length of time imaging him. Perhaps she expected him to be more barbaric, larger than life and looking like a tyrant, the Legion created in his image. Instead she is confronted with an older man, almost _mild_ looking.

 

       “So I finally get to meet the courier who’s accomplished so much in so little time. That is why I summoned you here, right?”

 

       Pandora says nothing and continues to bite the inside of her mouth. She has seen how the Legion treat people, treat them like they’re _not_ people, less than animals, and it has made her furious. During this time, she can see Vulpes stood stoically behind Caesar, watching her with narrowed eyes.

 

       “I mean, a man nearly kills you, and your response is to track him across the breadth of the Mojave?” Caesar’s eyes are also narrowing now at her lack of response to his first question and she realises she’ll have to say something to avoid being bludgeoned to death by the many power fists she has seen in the room. 

 

       “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” she replies drily and then stands back up. She hopes this won’t be the action that pushes the Legion over the precipice but kneeling for someone like him isn’t her style. “Why am I here?”

 

       “Because _Courier-_ ” Pandora can hear the impatience creeping into the edge of his voice now “the Legion could use your assistance with a matter we have.”

 

       “And why do you think I’m going to help you?” she bites back, forgetting her earlier poise. There is something about Caesar, about his certainty that she’ll bend to his will without question, that rubs her up the wrong way and she can see red seeping into the corners of her vision. It is not a good time for her to lose her temper. 

 

       “I’ve granted you mercy, woman!” he snaps, gripping the armrests of his false throne. “I will not grant it again.”

 

       “Mercy? _Mercy?!_ ” I’m meant to be your guest yet you threaten me to do the work none of your own men want to do…or are capable of doing!”

 

       Some of the guards step forwards towards her and Caesar lifts one hand to stop them proceeding any further. “You think my men aren’t capable of doing the most menial tasks? You’re just a goddamn Courier! You should be _grateful_ that I haven’t had you killed yet!”

 

       “Get in line, Caesar!” she spits the ground near his feet and ignores the rational part of her brain begging her to stop. There is something about his arrogance, his certainty that she’ll follow his every order than has her seeing red, and she can’t help herself. “You men are no better than the _profligates_ you detest,” she sneers at him. “All you do is take what you want for your own gratification. And you have the audacity to call yourself the Son of Mars? He’d have cast you out if he could see you now!” 

 

       There is a moment of silence before Caesar quite unexpectedly laughs. It is a loud, raucous laugh, and no one quite knows whether join in or not. And then he stops laughing, the silence an imposing force within the room, and Pandora is biting her bottom lip so hard she can taste the coppery tang of her own blood. She knows she’s fucked up but she can’t bring herself to apologise to such a tyrant- she’s not sorry for what she said. Caesar will not punish her with a slow-acting venom; no, he has to make an example of her. She will feel his wrath.

 

 

       “You’ve left me no choice,” he begins steadily “but to punish you for that transgression. Try making jokes with no tongue.” He raises one hand and the guards move towards her with such speed that she has no time to react as they grab her, pushing her back to the ground. She is wide-eyed with terror and grits her teeth together as though it’ll stop the inevitable. She tries to stand, tries to take a step backwards but she knocks into someone and goes flying back onto the ground. The men are there- Caesar’s guards, part of his personal army- and they grab at her arms. 

 

       “No no no no no no!” She shrieks, flailing to try and buck them off. She will not be contained, she will not be-

 

       “And then, when you can’t scream, I’ll take your hands!” His eyes are furious and she knows if she begs for forgiveness, swears fealty to him, offers to fuck him and be his personal whore, he’ll _probably_ accept this, but- “You stupid fucking woman. I offer you one of the greatest positions, a place in my Legion, and you dare insult me!”

 

       Pandora thinks to being shot in the head, the one defining moment in her life that she can recall with perfect clarity. The moment that has lead to this one. She doesn’t want to be tortured, maimed beyond recognition; she’d rather take another bullet to the temple again but to be left in the grave this time. Since her _resurrection_ (as Arcade had sardonically called it) she’d been told to work for so many different fractions in her home, each wanting to shape it for their own selfish purposes. It was easier being dead, a thought that she hasn’t dared share with anyone, and she thinks this as she can feel her heart beating so quickly in her chest she’s surprised it hasn’t given up yet. And, all the while, the guards in the room are forcing her back onto the dirt where she knows she belongs and are trying to prise open her jaw, teeth clenched together so tightly she’s sure some of them must have cracked by now. She closes her eyes now, as though not being in the room will somehow transport her out of it and back to Goodsprings or Primm. Anywhere else. 

 

       “Wait!”

 

       She opens her eyes slowly, afraid that the voice she has heard is some mirage, an oasis in the desert. The guards have backed away and she draws in a gasping breath. Caesar is still staring at her and, while he is not smiling, his poise is that of utmost confidence and control. He has the upper hand entirely. 

 

       “I have no idea why but _he-_ ” Caesar gestures to Vulpes with a quick jerk of his head “-seems to think we should keep you intact. As he normally appreciates this type of thing, I can only assume you’re a good lay and he wants your tongue for that.” Some of the men around him laugh quietly at his comment before stopping as he continues. “But I demand recompense for your actions. If you survive, we’ll talk again.”

 

       “If I wh-” Pandora sees something moving in her peripheral vision and turns to face it to see something metal coming at her before everything vanishes. 

 

 

******** 

 

       It is hot, too hot, her mouth is so dry and her head is in agony. Gasping, she remembers what happened before and her eyes fly open. Or, at least, one eye does. The other feels glued shut.

 

_‘A power fist. That’s what I saw. Guess I’m lucky they didn’t take my whole head off.’_

 

       Looking around, the situation dawns on her quickly, especially when she see her hands are bound to some sort of large wooden pole; she knows it’s fruitless to try and escape but she still wriggles them in a last-attempt bid to escape. 

 

_‘Sunburnt, half-nude and strapped to a pole awaiting my death. You should have said sorry! Should have lied to his stupid goddamn face!’_ She bangs her head against the pole and flinches. _‘And apparently I’ve got a busted up face. Explains why my eye won’t open. Pandora, you idiot.’_

 

       “I warned you.” At the sound of the familiar voice, she sighs and looks towards Vulpes. He looks as poised at ever and she begins to turn her face away, not wanting to be lectured by someone about to kill her. However, he grabs it, forcing her to look at him and then leans in close. “Is this really a better scenario than just accepting his will? You would die for your beliefs?”

 

       She nods and the briefest smile flashes across her face before it vanishes. “I died for a job once. Or was killed rather. Besides, being tied up like this awaiting my death? Always wanted to do my best impression of Andromeda.”

 

Vulpes rolls his eyes at her. “She was chained to a rock at sea because of her arrogant, vain mother. You’re just an idiot who can’t hold her tongue.”

 

       Pandora is quiet for a moment, contemplating the man in front of her. “Thank you.” she whispers to him and notices his eyes go wider for just a split second before his normal composure returns. “I know that I’m just some dumb _degenerate_ woman to you and I ain’t got the foggiest why you made Caesar change his mind but shit, thank you.”

 

       “Don’t thank me yet, Courier.” He releases her face finally and walks away from her. She is left to mull over his parting words, feeling stupid that she _thanked_ him. Thanked him for what? 

 

       And then she screams as something hits her naked back, splitting her skin and making tears spring into her eyes. Craning her neck, she tries to turn around to see what the hell is happening but then she hears the second crack and the awful, inescapable pain follows moments later. This is both Caesar’s mercy and his punishment, and she understands what Vulpes meant with his parting comment. Each strike of the whip on her back hurts more than the previous one, and she begins to sob uncontrollably.

 

       This is her Tartarus.

 

       It must have only been minutes, the briefest flickering moment in time, but it feels like an eternity and she wonders when it’ll stop. Her back feels sticky which she knows is from her own blood and the pain radiates throughout. Coming to the camp was a horrible, horrible idea and as the mutilation continues, she tries to ignore the stars floating into the corners of her vision, the way her hearing has gone horribly distorted and the cracks sound like they’re coming from further and further away, and then she realises she’s about to faint but there’s nothing she can do about it until-

 

       -she opens her eye and gasps. It is dark, so dark, wherever she is now and it takes a moment for the recent memories to come flooding back to her, for her to realise the pain in her back is dulled now instead of the intense, all-consuming _agony_ of before. It’s still too much for her to move though she realises as she tries to push herself up from her front before collapsing back down in an ungainly heap. 

 

       “You’re finally awake.”

 

       “Haven’t you done enough to me?” she whispers in response. She is sapped of all energy by this point, all adrenaline from the day long gone from her body and can’t bring herself to do anything but hiss with pain as a calloused finger strokes against the length of one of the whip marks. 

 

       “I did tell you not to thank me,” he murmurs in response as he traces her gouges with consideration and examines how each of them, each injury he inflicted upon her, will eventually leave constellations of scars on her back. He does not tell her he thinks she is beautiful right now, exposed and raw and angry at him, and that he too thought of Andromeda when he was tying her to the pole as punishment. He is not Perseus though, not yet. 

 

       “Will this be enough for Caesar?” Pandora asks the question but is afraid of the answer.

 

       “Yes.” There is a moments pause before he continues. “Please be mindful of your attitude next time you are in his presence. He will not be forgiving next time. Even _I_ won’t be able to prevent your execution.” She does not answer him but he sees how her muscles lose some of their tension, a silent acknowledgement of hers.

 

       Another moment of silence passes before she speaks again. “It was a power fist that knocked me out, wasn’t it? I can’t open one of my eyes. Did it-”

 

       “-You have a black eye. It’ll heal, as will the wounds on your back. However-” he stops his almost nonchalant examination of her back and walks around to her front before squatting so their eyes meet, “-I would advise you keep a low profile from now on. Do as I say or things will get worse for you.” Her eye is bloodshot he notices, probably from her earlier outburst during her flogging, and it widens slightly before she nods. “Good. Now, I’ll send the healer in. Remember what I said, Courier.” Vulpes goes to stand but then hears her whisper something inaudible and frowns at her. “What did you just say?” 

 

       “Pandora.”

 

       “Pandora?”

 

       “My name. Sick of being called Courier all the time.” She closes her good eye, ending their conversation and she does not see him stand up and look at her once more, the hints of a smile on his face. No, he is not Perseus. He does not wish to rescue her from this predicament. 

 

       He is Cetus and he wants to devour her, consume her entirely. With this thought on his mind, he smiles and leaves her alone in the darkness. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO WELL THEN. 
> 
> Kudos to you if you can spot the reference to Titus Andronicus.
> 
> Apologies for the massive hiatus. I'll try to update this again this month/year.
> 
> I'm honestly overwhelmed by all the kudos and hits on this thing. Thank you all so much!
> 
> Always appreciate comments (ESPECIALLY COMMENTS!!), love, kudos etc so shoot them this way, and massive thanks again for all you people who love reading about me torturing Pandora.


	8. Eight

She is not as upset with the physical injuries she has had inflicted on her, she considers in the few days after her run in with Caesar, but more with how humiliated she felt. Everyone had warned her about the Legion- the memories of Nipton were still fresh in her mind, months after she’d met Vulpes and had seen exactly what he was capable of- but still, she had taken herself to meet with them voluntarily. 

_‘Idiot.'_

       She has not seen Vulpes since their last conversation. It is only a day after the flogging when he vanishes, telling her he has work to do but to remember what he has told her. Back throbbing and itchy from the odd stitch keeping some of the nastier wounds together, she is complacent and nods silently. He is an enigma to her, in both his cruelty and also because he seems to be proactive in putting her back together, much to the collective anxiety of the slaves and Siri who know him only as a monster. When he does leave, she is escorted to the medical tent, In fact, she avoids most people now, isolating herself away from the immediate world around her in a bid to preserve herself. Her body is healing slowly with rest and from the balms Siri tenderly applies to her broken, bruised back but her mind. Her mind is in another way entirely. She thinks back to those first few days after being shot, when she was recuperating, and how addled her brain was then. Despite the months of exploration and learning and recollection, she’s now as confused and as vulnerable as she ever was. 

       The door to her area of the medical tent flutters open and she freezes when she sees two guards enter. They’re not just the standard guards posted around the camp to reinforce Caesar’s law, this much she knows from her time here, but are his own personal guards. And, when they get closer and she can see the power fists, her still-bruised face throbs at the sight of them and she recoils as they stand next to her. Not as much as a word is spoken before she is dragged to her feet and out the tent, outside into the bright sunlight. Pandora has avoided leaving the tent, seeing both the treatment of the slaves dispersed around the camp and also knowing Vulpes is not around to save her this time. 

 

       Not that she knows why he saved her the first time- he has offered her no explanation for this.

 

       “Courier.” Caesar scowls at her as she is dragged barefoot into his tent and her palms feel clammy as she tries to repress what happened during their last encounter. “It’s impressed to see you survived the flogging. I’ve seen lesser men submit faster than you. Anyway, I have a job for you to do. Unless you have any objections?” 

 

       She shakes her head quickly. “No. No objections.” Her voice croaks as she speaks, the fact that she has barely uttered a word to anyone not lost on her. What is she meant to say to anyone here? All they have in common is servitude, and Pandora hopes hers in merely temporary until Caesar has had enough of her being around. 

 

       “You’re learning quickly. An admirable trait.” He leans forward and holds something out towards her. “Come here, look at this.” Pandora walks forwards, lured in by the the unknown object and it is only as she gets closer does she gasp, knowing what he has. He sees her eyes widen and smiles coldly. “My men found this hidden on you. There were rumours you had it, which is why I’d invited you here in the first place. There’s a building down the hill, and inside this building are two doors. On these doors are a sigil of the Lucky 38 casino…the same sigil that’s on this Platinum Chip. Isn’t that interesting?”

 

       How she wants to scream at him that’s she out of her element, that’s she’s a courier who got shot in the head and how she’s woefully ignorant to whatever grand scheme has been concocted long before her time, but she bites her tongue and nods in agreement instead. 

 

       “What’s even more interesting is there’s a slot about the same size as the Chip on the console that opens the hatch. I think this Platinum Chip opens the doors- doors that can’t be pried open or drilled open or blasted open. Because all that, I’ve tried.” He looks thoughtfully at the Chip in his hand then back to Pandora. “I need you to do into the vault, see what’s down there and destroy it. We’ll talk again when it’s done.” 

 

       There’s no opportunity to follow on from this as she is ushered from the tent and down, past tents and leering men and dying slaves, to an ordinary looking building. Once inside, one of the guards hands her a bag. It’s her bag and she’s hit with a wave of emotion as she rummages through her stuff. There’s a lot of junk in there, tidbits that she’s picked up along the way to sell but then she holds _Maria_ , and it’s the first time things have felt right. By all accounts, she should hate the gun that murdered her, but it is beautiful and Benny is gone now, rotting away wherever Yes Man dumped his body. It’ll be easier to use this underground as well rather than wielding a sniper rifle. She prefers to keep her distance if possible, the memory of the ghoul bite and being clubbed in the chest still not ones she’d rather relive, but sometimes the occasion calls for up close fighting. 

       It takes only moments to discard the slave robes she has been forced to wear and to slip back into her own spare clothes (unlaundered and disgusting from her trek to the camp but _hers!_ she thinks). And then she steps into the void, knowing it’s her one shot at earning back the privilege of freedom, one which should have never been stripped from her in the first place. As she slips the Platinum Chip into the slot, Mr House appears on the screen and warns her about roaming in the bunker, ones he is unable to control. How she should leave the bunker intact for him instead of destroying it, like Caesar has commanded her to do. And so she pretends to listen to him, pretends to care about any of it. The sooner she blows the place up, the sooner she can make her move away from the Legion camp and sort out Mr House ( _‘condescending sonofabitch!’_ ). 

       She hasn’t forgiven him for allowing her home to get into such a bad way, for getting her killed, for trying to flex whatever metaphorical muscles he has and state she still _belongs_ to him. The chassis of one of the Protectrons is concave and bullet marked by the time she has finished with it, fuelled by her own anger towards Mr House. How _dare he_ dictate to her the contract is still valid! Blinkered by how incensed she is at Mr House and Caesar, she doesn’t notice the laser burn on her exposed calf until she slumped against a wall and sighs deeply. Who she wouldn’t kill for a smoke and a stimpak right about now. Instead, she settles for chewing the skin around her nails while frowning at her burnt leg, and ponders what balms Siri will have on offer when she gets back that’ll possibly help with this. Whatever has been used on her back has definitely helped, but it doesn’t compare to modern medicine. 

 

_‘The Legion would definitely win if Caesar only removed whatever’s up his ass and let his men use stimpaks.’_

 

       Despite destroying the few wandering Protectrons, Pandora still wonders what to do about the rest of them, about the bunker. She knows in her gut what must be done to preserve the Mojave as _it is;_ Mr House must die, this is certain. He has ignored New Vegas for far too long now, left it to decay whilst sitting in the Lucky 38, a gilded kingdom away from his apathy. It’s what to do about the others that is causing her sleepless nights. The NCR are pricks, Caesar is a prick….Pandora rubs her temples before looking at the time on her Pip Boy and knows when its back on her wrist for good, she’ll never take it for granted again. Procrastinating, she flips through the various notes she has left to herself on it, all of them records of memories that have come back to her fleetingly, at odd moments. When she looks, there haven’t been any additions for a while and she knows that everything she is going to remember she _has_ now remembered. It is liberating in knowing there’s no more uncertainty now, that she can finally start over and get the closure she needs. 

 

       Time to do the deed and get out of the bunker. 

 

********

 

       Destroying the bunker is anticlimactic but, for whatever reason, the guards allow her to hold onto _Maria._ Her own clothes are taken away from her, as is her Pip Boy, and she’s soon dressed in the uncomfortable slave garments from before. And then, she’s frogmarched back up the hill, back into Caesar’s tent where he is waiting for her. She doesn’t even have an opportunity to speak before he starts. 

 

       “I felt the ground shake a while ago. I’ll take that as a sign you got the job done.” When Pandora nods, he continues on. “Now, for the next job, I want Mr House out of the picture.”

 

       “Wait a second!” She hates how high pitched her voice sounds in this moment, how _needy_ she’s coming across. “I thought I could go after destroying the bunker for you! I never agreed to kill House for you!”

 

       Caesar raises his eyebrows and clasps both hands together- she can tell he’s not used to people speaking back at him when he’s given an order- but for whatever reason, he humours her. “I never said that. You forget who you’re talking to, _woman._ For destroying the bunker, I’ll give you your own quarters and _leniency_ , but don’t ever assume I’m in the habit of making deals.”

 

       She thinks back to their earlier conversation, one which feels so long ago now after her day underground, and realises she has jumped to conclusions _again._ He’s right- he never said she could go, and she can feel her face going red with embarrassment. 

 

       “…When can I leave?”

 

       Caesar is a smart man and knows what she is _really_ asking, but chooses to ignore it. “Vulpes is due back in so he’ll accompany you to the Strip, make sure you don’t fuck it up for us. He’ll fetch you when he’s ready. Now, get out. One of my men will show you where you’re going to be staying from now on.”

 

       Being marched around is becoming about habitual she thinks as once again, she is walked from the tent, down to an area of the camp where she hasn’t been before ( _‘not that I exactly got the grand tour when I got here.’_ ). Her own tent is small, the cot has definitely seen better days but she can see her backpack, sans any counterfeit goods or ammo. The cot shifts under her weight as she sits down on it and wonders what to do next. The Lucky 38 was heavily guarded and she didn’t actually _meet_ House as such, a fact in which she never bothered to tell Arcade or Boone when they eventually asked her about what it was like in there. And now-

 

       “I am so fucked.”

 

       The epiphany makes her place her head in her hands and she takes a few deep breaths to calm herself. She has never exactly attempted to make friends with the NCR, other than running the odd few errands for them, but in destroying the bunker, it is a clear message _against_ House. And, on top of this, with the bunker being on Legion ground, it’ll send a message to everyone that she is affiliated with the Legion.

 

       ‘ _They’ll think I’m assisting the Legion…but why do I even care what the NCR guys think about me anyhow? Not like they’ve done me any favours. Aww shit, Boone’s gonna hate my guts. Stop overthinking this, Pan. You’re not with the Legion. You got stuck and blew up some robots on their land. Nothing wrong with that. And you wanted to kill House anyway so what’s the harm in doing it in another guys name?’_

       She continues to bite the skin around her fingers, a poor substitute for the cigarette she desperately craves, and doesn’t manage stay awake long enough to see the Frumentarii get back, to hear the whispers about another successful strike against the NCR. 

 

       Camp Searchlight is no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should add slow slow slow burn as a tag really...
> 
> Things will start happening properly from the next chapter. Everything I write has a purpose, I promise! It’s all about the building things up!


	9. Nine

“Courier.”

 

       The voice sounds so far away, so far away, and she is so tired.

 

       “Courier.”

 

       No, she’s not just tired. It’s more than just feeling lethargic either. Her limbs won’t move and she wonders, in her fatigued state, brain muddled from sleep, if she’s still underground. Hypoxia would explain so much and it’s so much easier than waking up-

 

       -“Pandora.”

 

She knows the voice- it’s from a time _after_ getting shot in the head. Her mind catches up with her body and she jolts awake, inhaling sharply. Vulpes looks down at her, his expression bemused at her reaction, and she realises she’s still in yesterday’s clothes. Now she’s awake, he walks closer before sitting on the bed next to her- with this, she realises he’s blocking the path to both her equipment and the door. He’s quiet, contemplative for a moment, before he tilts her face up so some light is shining on it. A thumb strokes across one cheekbone and she winces. He smiles at this.

 

       “The men haven’t beaten you again, which means you listened to me. Good.”

 

“But I still look like a mess, right?” 

 

“On the contrary. You look like you’ve come out victorious from a fight. It is a good look.” He tilts her head in another direction and then frowns. “Why are you clutching onto your sheet? If I’m here to hurt you then I promise you, it’ll offer you no help.”

 

The knuckles go a little whiter as she grips harder. “I thought Caesar said-”

 

“-Caesar is correct. When I deem you ready, we’ll depart for the Strip. I’m under orders to supervise you and I have my own work to carry out. Now-” He stands and pulls Pandora up with him, much to her surprise “-take this off.” He tugs at the slave clothes she is still wearing.

 

“W-what?!” Pandora knows she has promised herself to be stronger but this is one hell of a curveball. “You want me to _strip for you?!_ ”

 

       There is just the smallest hint of a smile on his face, the most subtle upturning at the corner of his lips. “You might not be one of us, but even I know you have more self-respect than just to strip for anyone. Although-” He sounds more thoughtful as he continues, “-you did have sex with the man who tried to have you killed, so perhaps I’m wrong in my assessment of you.”

 

       Pandora bares her teeth in a snarl and pushes Vulpes so he staggers back just a step or two. “I did what I had to do. Don’t you _ever_ judge me for that. He killed me! I’m missing most of my life due to him! No price will _ever_ be high enough for me to get my goddamn revenge! You think I _wanted_ to fuck that man? He woulda added another hole in my head in a fight! He...” Pandora sighs and visibly deflates, her shoulders slumping down. “...it doesn’t matter. You don’t get to decide who or what I am. I deserved my revenge, that’s all you need know.”

 

Vulpes studies her in quiet contemplation, examining her from head to toe. She’s tall, not just for a woman but compared to some of the other scrawny occupants of the Mojave he’s used to seeing. And, she’s not of a common prettiness he thinks- no, she’d not be forced into a dress to parade her wears outside the Gomorrah like the other common whores, lest she claw their eyes out for trying. She is _striking_ , even with her badly chopped hair, with half an eyebrow missing and the appalling scar on her temple it looks like she’s given up trying to hide...

 

“Pandora.” He says her name slowly as though speaking to a child, “I need to look at your back. Caesar told me what you did for him yesterday. I don’t believe you’ll have got out of there completely unscathed.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yes.”

 

She feels stupid right now but knows to bite her tongue. Vulpes’s leniency at her complete disregard for him in private will only go so far and she can’t handle another flogging. So, she pulls the rags over her head and turns away from him, crossing her arms over her chest. And then, there is a moment in which nothing happens, in which she is merely waiting for a wicked man to make his move, and she feels like she is tethered to the post once more. A callused finger probes around the exterior of one of the larger wounds, around the stitches holding it together, and she feels his breath on the back of her neck. 

 

Butterflies in her stomach spring to life at his touch.

 

“The healer did a good job...” he says after his appraisal of her back, stepping away from her, leaving her space far too quickly, and she just nods. “Be sure to visit her again before we depart to get her to remove those stitches. Now-” she does not see how he eyes roam over her body, scrutinising her and then focusing on the burn on her leg she’s mostly forgotten about at this point. “-what on Earth gave you that burn?”

 

She shrugs. “Doesn’t matter now. It’s not a bad burn anyhow.”

 

His face darkens at her non-answer and he grabs her, pivots her so she is facing him. 

 

“You never told Caesar what was in the bunker...in fact, you gave him remarkably little information considering how long you were down there. Be careful how you answer me, Courier.” 

 

“I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal over n-” Pandora starts to say but then squeaks as she is shoved back onto the cot. There is a futile moment in which she tries to kick out at him but he grabs her ankle and pulls her down onto the ground. The speed, the _ferocity_ of the motion knocks the wind from her lungs for just a moment but it’s more than enough time for him to straddle her and pin her arms. She thrashes, trying to buck him off her and then-

 

_SLAP!_

 

The side of her face throbs and she lays very still, not wanting to piss him off further. And, in her shock, she wonders about how much more she must endure before she can crawl back into the dirt where she belongs. Vulpes lifts his hand again and she flinches away, closing her eyes. When the strike never comes, she dares open her eyes back open slowly and looks up at him. He is still, calm like the skies before the torrential rains drown the Mojave sands and envelop it completely. And slowly, he moves one hand to her neck, the other still pinning her hands. Two fingers push into the pulse point beneath her jawline and there it is. Her heart is racing away, divulging her bodies response to this moment. 

 

       “Do I scare you?” he asks her, moving his hand so it is now settled around her neck. He doesn’t need to apply any pressure yet for her to know he’s in charge. 

 

       “Yes.” 

 

       “So, tell me what was in the bunker.” His grip on her tightens just a little but it is enough.

 

       “Securitrons!” she hurriedly replies, not wanting to add being choked to the list of injuries suffered in the last week. “I don’t know how many because I blew the place up but Mr House had securitrons down there.”

 

       “How do you know they belonged to him?”

 

       “He…I don’t know, appeared on a screen or something when I went down there. Told me not to destroy them!” He feels her gulp underneath her and knows she is telling him the truth. How disappointing that she submitted so quickly though. 

 

Another moment of contemplation then he lifts he hands up from her, but continues to remain straddling her. She is still for a moment before crossing her arms over her bare chest; it’s only then he notices a flush on her cheeks. 

 

_‘How peculiar...I wonder-’_

 

“Vulpes.”

 

“Pandora?”

 

He can see her thinking, how her eyes shift away from his as though she is trying to remember the right words, when she speaks. “Where were you?”

 

This is not what he was expecting her to ask. No, he was not anticipating how forthright she is with her questioning so he decides to humour her. “You’ll need to be more specific.”

 

“You went away on some mission or...” She purses her lips together for a moment, once again thinking of how best to continue this conversation without receiving another beating, “I mean...what were you doing?” 

 

“So you’re asking the head of the Frumentarii what he was doing while undercover?” Vulpes pushes himself up, away from her and then stands upright. “No, that won’t do.” 

 

Pandora quickly scrambles to her feet and grabs one of his arms, forgetting who he is in her panic. “Wait! I didn’t mean it like that!”

 

“No, I’ll show you. You admired Nipton, as I recall, so this will be sure to impress you. We can go there en route to Vegas. It’s only a small detour after all.”

 

Pandora wants to deny her previous statements, deny the first things she said to him back when she was reborn to the world, but it’s futile. She knows how messed up the world, how what he did is probably no worse than many of the other atrocities committed every day. As far as she knows, there were no families, no _innocents_ , mixed up in the lottery in Nipton. And, she’s heard whispers of the NCR slaughtering the residents of Bitter Springs (not that Boone gave her any details- when she asked him about it, he locked up and the conversation was over before it’d even really begun). All these men in power are as bad as each other, she thinks.

 

_‘He doesn’t even try to hide how wicked he is at least...’_

 

Distracted, she doesn’t notice him picking up her Pip Boy from behind her backpack and flick through the various notes and reminders she’s left to herself. It, however, has piqued his interest entirely. And he just thinks-

 

“Just how bad was your head injury? Are there any lasting ramifications? I can't say I've ever met anyone who has ever survived being shot in the head...”

__

The colour drains from her face entirely as she notices both what he’s looking at, and at what he has asked her. “Asides from the amnesia?” 

 

It’ll be easier to shut him down now than get drawn into a long, and likely insincere, conversation with him. He doesn’t need to hear about how she had to remind herself to drink when she first left Goodsprings, about still needing to keep a record of what ammo she needs to use, about the night terrors that had her waking in tears while scratching at the side of her head where the two bullets took it all away. He won’t care about her dreams of Benny shooting her again, empty sockets were his eyes used to be.

 

But she also didn’t answer his question a few minutes before which lead to another altercation. Better to answer him.

 

“I...forget things sometimes,” she replies airily, ignoring her racing heart, “and I get the worst headaches, not often but they put me down.” There is nothing else she can say, _wants_ to say and so she steps to his side and reaches for her backpack. It's not shocking to her to see that they’ve confiscated her cigarettes,ammo...anything the Legion could possibly consider to be counterfeit, and she resists the urge to roll her eyes at Vulpes. Her face could do without another beating. Instead, she grabs a white t-shirt from the top of the bag (stolen from Boone, unbeknownst to him) and slips it over her head, giving her some semblance of modesty. When she looks up, she notices Vulpes is watching her and she frowns.

 

“What do you want from me?” The words are blurted out but better to ask them now than never at all. 

His smile is angelic and terrifying, and she wonders how many other women have been privy to it. How can be be so beautiful and cruel? He is both Perseus and Cetus,and she wants to be rescued and consumed entirely by him. But why, she does not know, and thinks Doc Mitchell must have left a bullet in her brain for her to be so enthralled by a man who has treated her so cruelly.

 

“You have potential, if you would only accept the Legions rule.” 

 

“Potential for what though? To be some wife? A slave?” She shakes her head at the very thought of this. “No Vulpes. Maybe it’s the brain damage or maybe I was always made wrong but-”

 

“You don’t get it!” He hisses, the smile vanishing from his face as he interrupts her. “ _We are all slaves!_ Just because some of us have more power than others does not mean we are somehow not expendable to Caesar! We are here to enact his Will!”

 

What can she possibly say to that? How desperately she wants him to go now so she can sit and absorb everything that has happened. Her muscles ache and she feels weary again, feels much older than her years in this moment. Vulpes must see how she wilts at his words, a flower deprived of sunlight, and turns his back on her to leave.

 

“Go and see the healer. Make sure you’re fit to travel soon. We have work that needs to be done, and it won’t be delayed much longer.” 

 

He departs and she sighs, at both her current predicament and with exhaustion. The camp seems to seep into her very bones, drain the energy from her like nectar to fuel the war machine. But no. No! She won’t be defeated by these men! They may beat her, defile her, but she will not let them break her.

 

 

************

 

 

It doesn’t take her too long to learn her way around the war camp, to remember where her tent is (in part, she also thanks her Pip Boy for this, for allowing her to make notes of landmarks amongst the hundreds of identical coloured tents). She is also starting to recognise faces on her meanderings, not that they ever seem happy to see her. The men are an annoyance at worst, threatening to _try her out_ which she pays little attention to. She’s sure Caesar would scold her if she cut off someone’s dick, but not much else would come from it. No, it’s the slave women who hate her. How _dare she!_ A free woman walking around the Legion camp is the talk and she hears their whispers about being a concubine, selling out the Mojave. And when they do look at her, the resentment can barely be contained in their eyes. 

 

She avoids asking them to do things for her after she notices this.

 

Instead, she spends her free time maintaining her guns, stripping them, cleaning them then reassembling them methodically. She won’t go as far as admitting to saying she misses shooting- no, it’s not that simple. She misses the open road desperately, ennui weighing heavily on her the longer she is contained. The reason she left her home to come to the Mojave in the first place is still unknown to her but she wonders if there’s something in her blood that compels her to keep moving, continue being transient. The life of a courier suited her perfectly well.

 

_‘Until I was shot in the head anyhow.’_

 

       And then the day comes when she finally gets the stitches removed from her back. Siri doesn’t acknowledge her thanks, quickly shooing her out of the medical tent with a warning to stop picking fights with people and, it’s only when Pandora gets back to her own tent does she stretch out all her tense muscles, languorously and indulgently like a night stalker waking from a nap. The removal of her stitches, the reclamation of her own body emboldens her and, as quickly as she has entered her tent, she departs it and heads down past all the slave tents, past all the people until she reaches the edges of the Colorado.

       It only takes her moment to strip off her clothes and then she tiptoes into the water. There is no fear of being dragged down by lakelurks- the Legion have cleared out anything unwanted from their lands- and when she gets over how cold the water is, it starts to become enjoyable. It’s there she cleans herself, washing off days and weeks of dust and dirt and blood until she feels new again. Furtively, she looks around to make sure there’s _definitely_ no one else around before she wades into the water, allowing it to get deeper and deeper until she is treading water. Then she floats, her exposed body facing the skies, and she closes her eyes when she feels the suns warmth on her face. A smile crosses her face when she imagines what she must look like to anyone passing by, a nude woman floating in the river, and then her mind goes back to Vulpes. 

 

       The strange feeling in her stomach appears again.

 

       She pushes it away, pushes him out of her mind, and decides to focus on the sun again. She knows what’s coming next- the journey back to New Vegas and putting a stop to Mr House once and for all. And, as she floats in the Colorado, she knows she’ll be okay. Everything will work itself out. Pandora smiles and closes her eyes again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the love! I really enjoyed writing this chapter :)
> 
> The next few chapters will be longer- I'm not flying for 11 whole days from the 31st of this month (hello holiday! Goodbye jetlag!) so can knuckle down and get on with this!
> 
> Comments etc always loved (they’re writers crack...)


	10. Ten

It is not so much leaving the Fort that has cheered her up, she thinks, but more the prospect of heading home, and having a purpose again. Although she tries to ignore the numerous unresolved Benny-related issues, she can’t help but admit to herself that the road to him was fun. Frustrating and long winded, but fun.  
       She thinks this on their trip back down the river and Pandora can’t help but also enjoy this long boat ride back, dipping her toes into the water on occasion and dragging her hand along the surface, creating ripples behind her. It also allows her to ignore the conversations between Vulpes and Lucullus, all of which are in Latin (an obvious slight against her, she knows this). It also allows her to ignore the remarks about her, unsubtle by the pointed looks at her and the occasional smile on Vulpes’ face before he turns away. It is easy to be in a reverie as they drift along and she imagines what would happen if she pushed one of them in the river, wonders if men of the Legion can swim. It seems like an unnecessary frivolity and she smiles as she imagines leaving the two men in the water.

       “Something you’d care to share with us?” Vulpes questions her, noting the half smile on her face.

       She shakes her head and turns away, knowing he wouldn’t retaliate yet about her thinking about the murder of them both. That can be her secret, and hers alone.

       And then, the journey is over and she’s back on the right side of the Colorado. Even though she is still in Legion occupied land, there’s something in the air, in the skies themselves and in the ground that make her blood sing. Although this isn’t her home place by blood, it’s the best home she’s ever had and she wants to protect it with everything she has. And so, she starts to walk a little way before Vulpes taps on her shoulder. When she turns to face him, she notices he is holding something and he slowly starts to give it to her, ignoring her side-eyeing whatever it is.

       “We had a deal,” he says, grabbing one of her hands, pushing something into it before closing it shut. “I’ll only ask that you…reconsider starting up again. It’s such a bad habit, and it’ll kill you prematurely.”

       Pandora stares at the packet of cigarettes in her hand and Gods above, she’s never wanted to hug the devil more than ever. Her cheeks flush and she quickly turns away from him. “Pretty sure I won’t be around long enough to worry about these tapping me back into the grave but…thanks. For returning them. Not for the lecture on my filthy profligate habits.”

       “Oh, but I have so many good lectures still lined up for you. You all make it so easy for me.” He strides past her and takes the lead, leaving her no choice but to follow him. “My second lesson for you isn’t too far a walk from here, only a few hours. Do you still remember the first lesson?”

       The smell of burned flesh, of burnt rubber lingering in the air long after the fires had burned themselves out - no, she’ll never forget Nipton. And so, they walk up away from the Colorado and back into the wastes of the Mojave. There’s a quiet companionship between the two, something she notices quite early into their trek but the walking, the strain on her recently underused muscles, keeps her quiet. It’s also easier to focus on the pulls, the small pains in her body, and it pushes down the other feelings she’s not at all ready to acknowledge. It’s not love- it’s not even affection. No, she knows it’s just a biological response to someone attractive.

_‘Stupid, stupid body.’_

       No, she pushes those thoughts back down and carries on walking, puffing away on a cigarette despite knowing it won’t help with the hiking, but needing that psychological rush. And, as the sun begins to set over the deserts, she notices something on the near horizon.

       “Vulpes?” She stops in her tracks and stubs her cigarette out. “I think I’m having a stroke.”

       He turns to her and raises his eyebrows. “A stroke? You look very animated for someone on deaths door.”

       “The sky…” She gestures weakly at it for a moment, “It’s gone green. Or it looks green. Can you see it as well?”

       He looks non-perturbed at her response and carries on walking, as though the effort of actually responding to her face is simply too much for him. “We’re nearly at where we will camp for tonight. Then, I’ll show you what I was doing while you were recuperating.” And so, as he stalks away into the distance, it feels as though she is once again being carried downstream, and has no choice but to follow him.  
It doesn’t take much longer for the sky to grow greener as they walk further along and then it dawns on her, a flash of something in her mind. No, she’s not dying. It’s not an issue with her brain. The sky is irradiated, and she wants to kick herself for being so dumb. It’s only on the outskirts of a town- no, the remains of a town- do they stop and Vulpes looks around for moments before he starts to scale the side of a building. There are grooves in the walls, a well used route up to the roof, and she knows she must follow him in order to get any explanation about what’s going on. And then, when she reaches the top, she sees Vulpes looking out onto the rubble below.

       “This was once Camp Searchlight,” he begins, pulling his goggles down and looking back at Pandora to make sure he is listening to his sermon. “We might be a sizeable force here but a direct assault on this place would have been suicidal, and even I’m not willing to throw all my frumentarii away so easily, so recklessly. No, instead I had to do something very different to what those dogs would expect me to do.”

       “So you did what exactly? How did you make all this happen?” She gestures to the glowing sky above them.

       “Have any of your friends taken the time to educate you about before the bombs dropped?” There is no answer to his question so he turns to face her and sneers. “No, I didn’t think so. The spies I sent in to gather more information…they learned that radioactive waste had been kept here, in pristine condition, from before the Great War. It only took a few unwitting legionnaires to release it. You shouldn’t need an explanation as to what happened next.”

       No, she doesn’t need any further explanation now. The contamination of the land is obvious and she is sure it is seeping into her very pores as they rest there. There is an absence of anything around them, apart from ghouls wandering in the wastes nearby, and his intelligence- no, not just his intelligence but his ability to think steps ahead of anyone else- is apparent, even in the decision of where to rest. Ghouls can’t climb, can’t scale walls, even in their frenzied bloodlust to feed upon the living.

       “Aren’t you afraid the NCR will retaliate? Or House?,” she asks, brow furrowing as she watches the silhouettes of ghouls in the near-distance. And, this question must come as a shock to Vulpes for his turns to her, his eyebrows raising for just a split second, so brief that she wouldn’t have noticed even if she had been looking.

       “Why should I be afraid of them? They may have higher numbers but their fighters are sloppy, lazy. It doesn’t take much to make them flee with their tail between their legs. And House? Well...that'll be one less problem to think about soon enough.”

       Her gaze falls towards his own, and their eyes meet. “What about the Rangers? I hear they’re mean sons of bitches or, at least, that’s what Boone told me.”

       “Propaganda from another NCR dog.” Vulpes pulls the coyote hood from his head and places it flat on the ground. “You should choose your companions more closely, especially when they so readily feed you lies. Tell me this- has your pet told you about Bitter Springs, or is he just going to continue the illusion that we’re the worst thing to happen to the Mojave?”

       Pandora sits and throws her backpack clumsily to one side, before placing the rifle more carefully to the other. “I’ve heard rumours but I mean…it’s not the same as going around enslaving and crucifying people.”

       Vulpes is soft on his feet as he clears the small distance between them in no time and then crouches next to her. “You didn’t answer my question.”

       “Because I can’t.” Her response is quick and she shakes her head. “I’m not…being difficult on purpose. He didn’t tell me anything. Not like anyone from the NCR will just drop it into casual conversation anyhow.”

       “An especially astute observation, especially from someone like you. Now-” He stands back up and turns away from her, “-rest. That is an order so I don’t expect backchat from you.”

       Her eyes narrow as she lays back down, but knows she will remain unharmed for as long as he dictates. It is an uneasy alliance but it’s all she has for now and, with this, she settles back and closes her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello writers block, my old friend...
> 
> (I have started on the next chapter, however, which will be longer. And not after a 2 month wait either- I know, I need to calm down!)
> 
> Comments feedback etc appreciated- thank you for all the support!


	11. Eleven

The night is both a blessing and curse she thinks, as they continue their slow walk North. Slow because of the marred route they are forced to take to avoid encountering too many NCR patrols looking for _them,_ looking for any threat to the illusion they want to give the Strip that the Legion aren’t as near as the rumours suggest. But, she finds solace in the darkness, in being able to travel with relative anonymity and not with the looks from people that surviving two to the skull have rewarded her with.

He will not tell her this yet but he actually doesn’t mind travelling with Pandora. She is tolerable, _for a woman._ It appears that now she is back in the wilds, she is more herself than he’s ever known her to be.And, with this new found sense of self comes anecdotes about the new memories, ranging from avoiding deathclaws to hunting cannibals. 

 

“-And I mean, no way I could drag his body back to Camp McCarran, not without being set on by more fiends or whatever else, so I had to chop his head off. Most disgusting thing I’ve ever done, or can remember doing anyhow. Maybe pre-gunshot me did some nasty things, who knows. But anyway, the knife Betsy had given me was the bluntest piece of shit thing I’ve ever encounter-”

 

“Does this story have an ending?” Vulpes side eyes her beneath his goggles and she stares back at him.

 

“I thought you’d appreciate a story about ultra violence, decapitation, stopping _deviant behaviour!_ ” Pandora sighs for a moment before continuing on. “I know chopping off a fiends head with a blunt knife isn’t the same as ghoulifying an entire town but I got paid for it and stopped one sick son of a bitch!”

 

“ _Ghoulifying?_ ”

 

“Is there another phrase to describe a person turning into a ghoul?” She shrugs, not really interested in his apparent distaste at her made up vocabulary. “How long until we get to the safe house?”

 

He is silent for a moment, does not answer her immediately, and instead looks out at the distance, before turning back to her. “Only a mile or two. I will have to change while we’re there as your people would not look kindly upon me walking through their front door as I am. Besides-” He pauses for another second as he starts walking again, the pace increased as a hiding sun slowly starts to emerge and turn the sky pink “-I would be a terrible spy if I announced my entrance.”

 

She is dumbfounded by his response, but cannot contain a snort of laughter. “Vulpes Inculta, making jokes?” And she trots after him, knowing he will leave her in the dirt without a second thought. It is all too easy to imagine what he would say to Caesar if she died along the way, if he’d even mention it. No, she’d just be some footnote in the Legions history, a failed attempt at getting someone to assimilate to their culture without their usual approach of conquering. 

 

There is a certain irony in calling where they end up a _safe house_ , and Pandora thinks decrepit hut is a lot more fitting. But she follows Vulpes in nevertheless and then stands awkwardly in the corner of the room, not entirely sure what she should be doing in there. And when her eyes do bother to focus on something other than a mysterious stain on the floor, they focus on the worst thing in the room. 

 

“We do not have time to be modest, living in such close proximity. Only officers get their own quarters but, even then, nudity is nothing to be ashamed about.”

 

Oh, how she wants the ground to swallow her whole, absorb her back into itself. _Anything_ to hide how obviously she is blushing and to get out of the situation she is currently in. But, none of this will ever happen and she spins on her heel instead, facing away from the nearly-nude man. 

 

“Why does my being naked bother you so much?” he continues on. “You are not ashamed of your body, and now we have nearly seen all of each other.”

 

“You’re acting like I just walk around with no clothes on,” she eventually retorts, “when it’s all about practicality. Bit hard to sleep with Benny fully dressed. And, you _took_ my top from me when you flogged me. Hardly the same as me just stripping down for you.”

 

“And would that be such a terrible thing, Courier? You stripping down for me?” 

 

_‘Gods above strike you down, Inculta!’_

 

She turns around, pissed again and ready to knock his stupid naked ass to the ground when she sees the clothes are mostly back on and-

 

No, he’s not wearing the same brown suit as before, but instead it looks like-

 

“Do I really need to give you basic lessons in espionage? I also wouldn’t be a very good spy if I continued to wear the same disguise.”

 

The checkered pattern, the pressed black tie…it’s like staring at a ghost, and she steps back. It’s intentional, this she knows, but it’s impossible not to take the bait. 

 

“ _Why?_ ”

 

“Does it bother you so much? I thought you’d appreciate seeing a reminder of your former lover.” 

 

She cocks one eyebrow at him, but holds her tongue for a moment. It’d be so easy to get offended by him, to allow herself to be a victim, but how long can that continue on for before she gets _replaced?_ Instead, she forces a smile on her face, knowing it probably looks more like the grimace he was expecting. “If you want to be associated with a man who lasted less than ten minutes then you’re definitely doing the right thing. Benny was nothing more to me than the means to an end. Maybe you can be added to that list, if you like."

 

He is still, almost serene looking, and then he smiles back at her. “You have a certain _wit_ about you, for a profligate woman. Perhaps you have more potential than you demonstrate.”

 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” she replies drily. “Are you ever going to tell me what you’re doing in New Vegas? Caesar said you were to escort me or accompany me, or whatever, back there. But, surely you must have better things to do there than make sure I get there?” 

 

“My Lord does not trust you to carry out his will unsupervised and I can guarantee you will get results.” Vulpes straightens his tie and then kneels down before starting to fold his uniform, as neatly as she imagines he would. Not that she thinks about him. “But, you are correct. I have someone I must see, a source of information from the Strip.”

 

“You have _spies_ in New Vegas?” Now, this is an unexpected development and not one she anticipated. 

 

Vulpes stands upright and starts to lift his bag from the floor. “But of course. Some people are more sympathetic to our cause than you’d like to believe, and I cannot be everywhere at once. You are naive if you believe that New Vegas is incorrigible to our ways. How do you think we learned about you? It wasn’t just the news reports of you tearing up the desert.”

 

Pandora realises she is breathing heavily, nostrils flaring at this news. No, it’s only news _to her._ “Did you men find anything interesting on me?” she asks him through gritted teeth. “Oh wait! I already know the answer to that or we wouldn’t be here having talking about it! Stupid fucking Pandora!”

 

He stares, his attention fully on her now, and his expression is cold. “Are you finished having a tantrum? It is a great privilege to be viewed on positively by Caesar. Or perhaps you’d prefer to be flogged again. You ignorant, ungrateful _woman._ You should be grateful he didn’t merely pawn you off to his men. They would not be so kind as I have been to you.”

 

She grits her teeth together, stabs short nails into her palms, anything to stop her anger erupting over and escalating the situation once more. He is right, of course. She is not so foolish as to not know what the cries in the night at the Legion camp were about, not so blind as not to notice the bruises on the female slaves and know why they disliked her. Vulpes is right to correct her, to remind her of her own _privileges_ , as much as they sit like tar in her mouth. And so, she does something unexpected to both parties. 

 

“You’re right…I’m sorry.”

 

It is awkward again, neither party seemingly wanting to move past their previous altercation, but then Vulpes changes the topic, his voice back to being as smooth as nectar. 

 

“People will invariably ask us questions. The infamous Courier Six and a businessman travelling together. Do not give them specific answers for it will be easier to poke holes in your story.” He walks past her and then holds the door open, motioning at her to go past him. How _chivalrous!_ “For example, if they ask where we met, please just tell them South of New Vegas.”

 

“Well, that’s hardly a lie,” she replies, thinking about Nipton whilst stepping outside, back into the desert, “And what then? That we just so happened to decide to travel together? The vagabond and the businessman? It’s hardly a likely pairing.”

 

“It’s more probable than you think,” he replies, swiftly following her before closing the door quietly behind him. “It’s a type of symbiosis, if you will. You are a gun for hire and have a high level of notoriety. And I am merely an inconspicuous trader from the NCR. We met and you agreed to guard me on my route to New Vegas.”

 

“That doesn’t sound…too implausible.”

 

He nods and starts to walk towards the glow of artificial lights in the near distance. “Please don’t take the simplicity of my plan as an insult against your intelligence. I wouldn’t be nearly as subtle if I were to attack you, as you very well know.”

 

_‘Is that…a goddamn compliment?’_

 

“I am meeting my contact in The Tops so we will part shortly after arriving. However, the eyes of Caesar are everywhere so don’t be too complacent in thinking this is respite from what we’ve asked you to do. Delay too long and you will be considered expendable.”

 

 

********

 

Walking back into The Tops casino is reminiscent of walking into a crypt, Pandora thinks, despite the bright lights and noise and how _alive_ the world is around here. She hasn’t dared show her face in here, not since killing Benny all those months ago. And, she suspects Swank must feel the same way looking at her as his face pales just momentarily before the customary smile appears on his face.

 

“Courier Six. So, you make an appearance after all this time. Remember the rules, okay?”

 

She is tense as she perches herself on the barstool, but nods nonetheless. To her right, Vulpes sits next to her and looks at her quizzingly, but says nothing. However, she knows he will not stop until he has the answers so it’s better to answer them now, before the questions even get asked. 

 

“I…apparently had a gambling problem or something. Not that I can remember,” she says, tapping her temple and rolling her eyes, “but bad karma follows you around no matter what happens.”

 

“Listen, kid. It ain’t quite that simple and you know that!” Swank smiles at her and then at Vulpes. “You never lost a goddamn cap! Flushed the machines clean out each and every time. Got to the point all the casinos on the Strip banned her! Never met anyone like her.”

 

“You were lucky in the same way you were lucky the bullets didn’t cause lasting injury.” Vulpes comments in a matter of fact way, before leaning over and whispering in Pandora’s ear. “Fortuna smiles down on you, Courier.”

 

She ignores the goosebumps cascading up her arms in waves, the way she likes how his breath tickles her ear, and leans away from him, pretending to adjust the Pip Boy clasped around her wrist.

 

“Oh, you already know Mr Fox!” Swank says, looking at Vulpes and then back to Pandora.

 

Pandora looks at Vulpes incredulously and has to bite on the inside of her mouth to stop herself from laughing. It’s too good to be true. And, he pointedly ignores her, instead choosing to speak to Swank.

 

“Purified water for me. And whatever the lady wants.”

 

“One Sunset Sarsaparilla, please.”

 

As the drinks are slid towards them both, she notes that Vulpes’ attention is elsewhere and so follows his line of sight until she sees what- no, _who_ he is looking at. A woman. Dark hair, beautiful warm skin. And, curse him! He turns and sees her looking at him. A smile appears on his face and then he stands, taking his drink from the bar top. “It was good to travel with you. Until we meet again.” He tips his hat to her and then leaves, walking away and towards the woman. 

 

She looks away, sips at her Sunset Sarsaparilla and then waves her hand at Swank. 

 

“You alright there, doll?”

 

“I need something stronger…whiskey please. And, make sure to add to his tab.” It is a petty thing to do, a _dangerous_ thing to do, and she is sure she’ll regret it eventually, much like she’d regret poking a pissed off deathclaw. But, that is a problem for future Pandora, she thinks, and knocks back a shot of whiskey, ignoring the way it burns her throat on the way down and focuses instead on the way the edges of her peripheral vision blur, just the tiniest amount. For a while, she just wants to _be._ No obligations to terrifying men, capable of ruining her completely. No running away from anything or deliveries to anyone. Just to be.

Swank is good company to get drunk with, that much she’ll admit to herself, and he must know something more is going on with Pandora what with the way he tells her stories, keeps her drink full and keeps her distracted. But, during those moments in which he has to slip away to speak to other patrons, be the showman that people expect him to be, she looks over at Vulpes and the woman, and watches as his hand caresses her knee, climbs further up her leg until-

 

“Another shot?” Swank taps her on the arm and she jumps, not realising her staring is so obvious. It is a rhetorical question, of course, and she picks up as glass, smiling as Swank knocks his own against it in a toast. It is nice, she thinks, to be distracted, to have someone not treat her as a mere pawn in a larger game. And so, she continues to mix the Sunset Sarsaparillas and whiskeys, drinking more than she can recall drinking, and laughs at Swanks terrible jokes and forgets until she hears a vapid giggle and honeyed tones getting near to her. 

The bottom of her drink is suddenly _the most_ interesting thing in the room and she refuses to look up, refuses to look at them and give him the satisfaction of _somehow_ knowing that he’s got under her skin. It is a foolish endeavour, she thinks, to expect him to change who he is. He’s never really pretended to be anything but a callous, cruel bastard, and he’s good at it. Yet, despite her best intentions, it’s hard not to watch him leave, his arm around the waist of some woman. Harder to ignore is the ball in the pit of her stomach, how her guts feeling like they’re tying themselves in knots at the scene.

 

The room sways around her, a change in the current of an ocean, and she places her head in her hands to stop the motion. But, no tears come, and she knows, understands what she is feeling _._ It is easy to embrace and she ignores the way she wobbles as she steps off her barstool, the way she teeters as she makes her way to the entrance of the Lucky 38.

 

Fuck Vulpes Inculta. Fuck Mr House. Fuck all the men who had ever hurt her, who’d ever shamed her. And she doesn’t consider the fact that she is whiskey blind right now to the ever more precarious situation she’s stepping into as she staggers into the Lucky 38, armed with only _Maria._ And, she doesn’t pay too much attention to the few securitron’s roaming around its ground floor. She has been invited in as a _honoured guest_ of Mr House, after all, and she doesn’t plan on telling him otherwise for now. Getting locked on the ground floor, unable to access his penthouse, would be a real kick in the balls as far as her plan is concerned. 

In her state, the lift towards the top, towards Mr House, feels like it takes an eternity. Her eyes lull closed, then open up again as fast as a bullet, and she knows that it’s not the best idea to go declare war on Mr House as inebriated as she is. But then she thinks back to standing up to Caesar, to her flogging and that she’s here today. Luck is on her side, but fuck Fortuna. She will not worship any of Caesar’s gods or goddesses, nor the man himself. Tyche is on her side, looking down on her and continuing to shine whatever warped perception of luck she has on her. And then lift door opens, dazzling her vision with bright lights and she staggers out into the lobby. 

 

“So, you’ve returned.” He is as matter of fact as ever, no pleasantries’, and this makes for knowing what she must do a whole lot easier. “I presume it must have been a successful?”

 

She shakes her head, trying to stop the slight tremble in her hand. Too late for nerves now. “I changed my mind. I’m not going to give you the chip. I saw what was under Caesar’s base and…you don’t deserve that power.”

 

Even though his face doesn’t change, his tone suddenly shifts. “How shall I put this? Delivery of the Platinum Chip is non-negotiable. I invite you to think carefully about what you do next…standing alone before me, surrounded by my heavily-armed Securitron guards. Be a good courier and deliver it!”

 

“I’m not afraid of you anymore. The Platinum Chip belongs to me.”

 

“You needn’t be afraid of me. It’s my Securitrons that are going to kill you.”

 

With this, he disconnects and the screen goes blank. There are no guards around her yet, and so she dashes for the nearest terminal. A quick glance at her Pip Boy to remind her of the password Yes Man gave her so long ago, in case this moment should ever arise. She knows it was _if_ she survived her encounter at the Fort, and it all feels like so long ago. And then, as the message pops up on the terminal screen to let her know the antechamber has been opened, bullets ricochet off the walls near her head and she yelps. No choice but to get to the next terminal which is- she squints, ignoring the dull throbbing behind her eyes and the threat of impending doom- across the room. As she sprints across the room to the second terminal, bullets flash behind her, next to her, and she is sure the whiskey must be dulling the pain of where she knows she has been caught. Not serious but they’ll still eventually hurt like hell.

 

“Yes Man? You need to turn off the goddamn Securitrons now!” she shouts into her Pip Boy as she ducks behind the second terminal, hoping they’ll have more sense than to shoot at part of their own electronic hardware.

 

“Ma’am?” His ever-cheerful voice appears on her Pip Boy and she feels about ready to throw it across the room at the moment.

 

“ _Now!_ They’re going to kill me!”

 

“Oh, of course Ma’am! Just give me one moment to bypass their protocols so they’ll stop shooting at you! Then you’ll just need to switch them off on the terminal next to you!”

 

As she waits for him to work his miracle, to save her, she curls into herself behind the consoles, a dying Night stalker suffering from the sting of the Cazador, and she closes her eyes waiting for that final shot to come. But Tyche is kind to her and shines her luck down on Pandora once more. She breathes out as the shots abruptly come to a halt and is slow to peek her head over the top of the console, waiting for a stray bullet to come her way. And, when it doesn’t, she stands on shaking legs and taps on the terminal next to her. The Securitrons, previously roaming around the floor, are now as still as Golems and she knows there is only more one hurdle before she can rest. She is so weary now, but the chill of the air emerging from the control room temporarily revives her and she stalks down the short corridor, eyes straining under the dim lighting, until she sees what Yes Man described to her before. It looks like a coffin, she thinks, and when it opens itself to her, she retches violently. 

 

He is a mere husk now, nothing like the facade she has come to get used seeing on the screens, and despite being in a sterile chamber, she is positive she can still smell the decay coming from him, born of unnatural longevity. 

 

“Why…have you…done this?”

 

The question takes her aback. No, it has not just been because of Yes Man’s encouragement, nor entirely due to the demands of Caesar and the Legion. 

 

Wrath. 

 

Mr House deserves her wrath. 

 

“I could put a bullet to your head, make it quick just like it was for me,” she tells him, pointing Maria at his face, “but you deserve to suffer.”

 

“What…have you…done?”

 

“I’ll put you back in your tube, as good as new.” 

 

“No!” Despite how ruined his body is, his voice still carries some strength. “You’ve…ruined everything! Exposed germs…a year…of life…if at most…”

 

“It’s just business,” she replies as she turns her back on him, tapping the button the final console on her way out of the control room. She has condemned him, executed him herself, and she feels _nothing._ There is the absence of regret for her action. No, she will not grieve for him nor allow him to haunt her as Benny once did. 

 

“Yes Man? It’s done…can you get Arcade for me? Ask him to meet me outside?”

 

“Consider it done! Congratulations on tonight by the way! What a success!”

 

Pandora can’t bring herself to reply to him and walks the corridors the Lucky 38, retreading the steps she took that got her into this position in the first place, and is grateful for the fast lift ride down, grateful for the cool Mojave air on her face as she leaves. And then she sees Arcade and she smiles despite herself. 

 

“Fancy meeting you here,” she says, ignoring the people massing outside the front of the Lucky 38. The news must have broken by now of Mr House’s demise, something automated in the software. The sly bastard had everything planned, apart from _her_.

 

“You smell like a brewery.” Arcade approached her and held his fingers to his nose. “So we don’t hear from you for weeks and then you turn up as Mr House dies? Can you fill in the gaps for me please?”

 

“I need to sit now.” Not paying any attention to see if he is even following her, she plods over to a nearby wall at the top of the stairs before sitting heavily. “I got my revenge. Mean bastard tried to have me killed.”

 

“I presume you’re talking about Mr House because there haven’t been that many prolific deaths on the Strip in the last…oh, hour or so.” Arcade sighs wearily before continuing on. “I hate to sound like the responsible adult here but you really can’t just go around killing people.”

 

“He tried to kill me first!” 

 

“In the morning, you’re going to replay this conversation in your head and realise how childish you sounded there.”

 

“You don’t get it, Arcade! He was the one who hired me! If it wasn’t for him, I’d remember more than irrelevant dumb moments! Like, hey! Fond memory of remembering the first guy I fucked but not his name or his face. Or like, I remember having a mother but I’ll be damned if I remember her name!” Everything is too overwhelming for her, all of a sudden, and she can’t look at him, holding her face in her hands instead. “I was bought back wrong, wasn’t I?” she whispers, shaking her head. “You’re a doctor, you should know all about this!”

 

Arcade pats her awkwardly on the shoulder and coughs. “Well…I’m a _researcher_ , which you keep forgetting. But, have you just considered that maybe you were always this way?”

 

Pandora is quick to look up at him, quick to glare despite the tears prickling in the corners of her eyes. “How can you say that? Dammit Arcade! I thought you thought I was…a decent person!”

 

He holds his hands up defensively and steps back from her slightly, not particularly wanting to be on the receiving end of her black mood. “Come on, I’m being pragmatic here. Let’s just talk this out before you hurt me. You were a courier from when you were how old?”

 

“Like…seventeen? Eighteen?” She shrugs and taps her temple. “Missing a few important dates but I think that’s about right.”

 

“And you’re what? Twenty five now? Twenty six? That’s maybe eight years of doing one of the worst jobs in the Mojave. The life span of couriers generally isn’t _great._ And here you are, still standing. Think about it logically for just one moment, Pandora. You’ve got to be a certain type of person to last that long.”

 

She continues to glare at him for a little longer, secretly enjoying watching him squirm under her gaze, but then she barks out a small laugh. “You calling me a bitch, Arcade?”

 

“If the shoe fits…”

 

The tension between them is palpable, neither of them wanting to admit they’re wrong, but then Pandora laughs again. “It’s hard, y’know? Always trying to do _the right thing_ because the spotlight is on me.”

 

“I think our opinions of the right thing are very different-”

 

“-Hey!”

 

“-as I recall you haggling with people for more money to go kill someone for them. Or maybe I should also remind you about the time-”

 

“-Okay okay! I get it! I’m a terrible person!” She sighs loudly, not wanting to admit the truths about herself that Arcade was pointing out. 

 

“I didn’t say terrible. Maybe you should call yourself _ethically challenged._ Or, maybe even morally dubious.” When Pandora is silent, no clever retort thrown back at him, Arcade sits down on the wall next to her. “Listen, you’re not an evil person. Don’t try to overthink it, especially not in your condition.”

 

Pandora leans over and pats one of his hands, a motion she knows will make him uncomfortable, but she doesn’t care too much. “Well, I’m glad you’re around to positively reinforce I’m a delinquent and that’s okay. Can always count on you!”

 

“Okay okay, stop getting too affectionate.” He stands up, scratching the bridge of his nose before pushing his glasses back into place. “Come back to the Fort with me. I can find you somewhere to sleep off the copious amounts of liquor you’ve had and then tomorrow you can tell me where you’ve been since you went for a walk.”

 

She stands and nods, trying to ignore how her vision is swimming. It’s been a hard night, the _hardest_ night, and she can’t quite believe what’s she done. She knows Vulpes must have heard by now, but he’s the last person she wants to bump into at this point. Instead, she leans on Arcade, ignoring how annoying she must be to him at that moment, and allows him to take her to the Old Mormon Fort to rest. 

 

 

********

 

The sun is high in the sky when she manages to venture outside and her head is throbbing in a way she’s never known. Slipping her sunglasses on, to hide the dark circles under her eyes and save her further from the elements, she slips out of the Old Mormon Fort. Sipping on her flask of water, she teeters on her feet and tries not to remember how whisky tastes, lest she brings the water back up. And then she is grabbed around the arm, causing her to leap what feels like a few feet into the air. 

 

So much for being mean. So much for self defence. 

 

“That was pathetic.” Vulpes says as he drags her into a nearby Freeside alley. 

 

There is no clever retort on her lips and she just wants this conversation to be done as quickly as possible so she follows him willingly. “I feel like I’m going to die right now. Speaking of which, House is dead. Deal done. Leave me alone.”

 

“I had better hopes for you but one day back amongst these people and look at the state of you.” He picks the sunglasses off her face, throwing them to the floor, and looks at her bloodshot eyes, the obvious signs of too much alcohol tattooed on her face. 

 

“I forgot you were such a moral compass!” she hisses back at him. “Hanging out in casinos? Sleeping with a “degenerate” woman? Oh, but I forgot the almighty Vulpes can do what he wants or rather, who he wants without being judged.”

 

“Are you jealous, _Courier?_ ” He sneers her title at her and laughs. “Would you rather it be you who gets my attention instead of her?”

 

“No! What? No! That’s not it-” She can feel her face flushing a furious shade of red and tries to sidestep him, but he’s having none of it. Both hands go up and push her squarely back against the wall behind her, and he pins her, smirking at how her eyes have gone wide and her cheeks are crimson. And so, he leans in further so his body is flush against hers, the lovers stance, and almost feel her heart beating away, a hummingbird locked in her chest.

 

“Oh, but I think that’s _exactly it!”_ His grin is wicked, just as he is wicked, and he inhales the smell of her hair, his breath on her jawline eliciting goosebumps from her still unwilling body. “Did you think about it and wish it were you instead of Martina? Do you fantasise about my tongue on your cunt, about me bending you over and fucking you like a cheap whore?”

 

The tension in the air is palpable and he notices her micro-mannerisms, the way her lips purse together, how her eyes avoid meeting his own, and he wonders what his Courier is thinking. She is still beet red but her body is still now, seemingly accepting of his own pushing against it.

 

“Let me go.” Her whisper is barely audible and he turns to face her properly. 

 

“Why? You have no further orders to act out.” One hand moves away from her own pinned arms and snakes down her side to her waist. 

 

“Because _Mr Fox_ , you might be the meanest son of a bitch everywhere else but, for some messed up reason, people like me here. You try to do something stupid to me, you won’t make it a few steps before all those securitrons will take you down. So-” He can feel her body shaking, just slightly, the only sign of any nerves at all, “-I suggest you let me go and we’ll head our separate ways.” His face is impassive, as still as a portrait, as he looks at her, when she flashes him a _smile!_ “If you’d rather end this messily, I’ll give you a head start. You see, my brain might be all kinds of muddled but you forget who runs this place. House is gone, thanks to _me,_ and you’re on my turf now.”

 

He pushes in closer to her, his lips a ghost next to her ear and he whispers, “Imagine how the NCR would react to finding out their golden child is working with the Legion. I wouldn’t need to do anything; they’d tear you apart themselves.”

 

Another smile at him. “Poor brain damaged Courier! So easily manipulated and taken advantage of by bad men! They wouldn’t believe you. And, I doubt you’d risk it.”

 

“I understand where this is going, Pandora.” He smiles back at her, a rare genuine smile but still cold nonetheless. “However, if you think we’re done with you yet then you’re sorely mistaken. Killing Mr House was merely a test. One of my men will send word when you’re next required.”

 

“I’m done, Vulpes. I mean it! I don’t want any part in this fight for New Vegas!”

 

“It’s too late to claim apathy now, Pandora. You’ve already chosen your side, whether you like or not. At least you’re smart enough to choose the winning side.” And then he moves away from her. “ _Vale._ Until your next assignment.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL!!
> 
> I am incredibly sorry at how long this chapter has taken to write! What between writers block and a busy flying schedule, life has been tiring. HOWEVER, I sincerely hope you like this chapter as, when I did eventually my mojo back, it was incredibly fun to write! Also it's basically a super chapter due to it all happening in a very short period of time- I could cut it in two but naahhh.
> 
> In case anyone is wondering, I am working on later chapters and the next chapter won't take 84 years to publish ;)
> 
> I appreciate (thrive on!!) comments, kudos, subscriptions to this work so please do leave them (any of them)! I am incredibly grateful for the support so far...Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> This’ll be a slow burn as I’m a slow writer ;)
> 
> Tags will be updated periodically.
> 
> Also thank you for reading- I’m FNV trash and needed to write this.


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